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OHRISTIAN IJEADING HIS BOOK. 



Ptlgrim'a Prngrfaa 



S^rnm tI)iB Watlh ta that mhirlt ta ta tonw 



BY 

JOHN BUNYAN 

mTH A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR 



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CHICAGO 
M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 



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Made in U. S. A. 



THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 



John Bunyan has faithfully recorded his own spiritual 
history. Had he dreamed of being '' forever known," and 
taking his place among those who may be called immortals 
of the earth, he would probably have introduced more 
details of his temporal circumstances, and the events of his 
life. But, glorious dreamer as he was, this never entered 
into his imaginations. Less concerning him than might 
have been expected has been preserved by those of his own 
sect; and it is now not likely that anything more should 
be recovered from oblivion. The village of Elstow, which 
is within a mile of Bedford, was his birthplace , 1628 
the year of his birth ; and his descent, to use his own 
•words, " of a low, inconsiderable generation ; my father's 
house," he says, " being of that rank that is meanest and 
most despised of all the families in the land." It is stated 
m a history of Bedfordshire, that he was bred to the busi- 
ness of a brazier, and worked as a journeyman in Bedford : 
but the Braziers' Company would not deem itself more 
honored now if it could show the name of John Bunyan 
upon its rolls, than it would have felt disparaged then by 
any such fellowship ; for he was, as his own statement 
implies, of a generation of tinkers, born and bred to that 
calling, as his father had been before him.* ^Wherefore this 
should have been so mean and despised a calling is not how- 
ever apparent, when it was not followed as a vagabond 
employment , but, as in this case, exercised by one who had 
a settled habitation, and who, mean as his condition was, 
was nevertheless able to put his son to school, in an age 

(6) 



6 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

when very few of the poor were taught to read and write. 
The boy learned both, " according to the rate of oth^r poor 
men's children," but soon lost what little he had been 
taught, " even," he says, " almost utterly." 

Some pains, also, it may be presumed, his parents took 
in impressing him with a sense of his religious duties ; 
otherwise, when in his boyhood he became a proficient in 
cursing and swearing above bis fellows, he would not have 
been visited by such dreams and such compunctuous feelings 
as he has described. " Often," he says, " after I had spent 
this and the other day in sin, I have in my bed been greatly 
afflicted, while asleep, with the apprehensions of devils and 
wicked sj^irits, who still, as I then thought, labored to draw 
me away with them." His waking reflections were not less 
terrible than these fearful visions of the night ; and these, 
ie says, " when I was but a child, but nine or ten years old, 
did so distress my soul, that then, in the midst of my many 
sports and childish vanities, amidst my vain companions, 
I was often much cast down, and afflicted in my mind there* 
with ; yet could I not let go my sins. Yea, I was also then 
so overcome with despair of life and heaven, that I should 
often wish, either there had been no hell, or that I had been 
a devil, supposing they were only tormentors; that if it 
must needs be that I went thither, I might be rather a tor- 
mentor, than be tormented myself." 

These feelings, when he approached toward manhood, 
recurred, as might be expected, less frequently, and with 
less force ; but though he represents himself as having been 
what he calls a town sinner, he was never so given over to 
a reprobate mind, as to be wholly free from them. For 
though he became so far hardened in profligacy that he could 
"take pleasure in the vileness of his companions," yet the 
sense of right and wrong was not extinguished in him, and 
it shocked him if at any time he saw those who pretended 
to be religious, act in a manner unworthy of their profession- 
Some providential escapes, during this part of his life, he 
looked back upon afterwards, as so many judgments mixed 
with mercy. Once he fell into a creek of the sea, once out 



LIFE OP JOHN- BUNYAN. 7 

of a boat into the river Ouse, near Bedford, and each time 
was narrowly saved from drowning. One day an adder 
crossed his path ; he stunned it witli a stick, then forced 
open its mouth with the stick, and phicked out the tongue, 
which he supposed to be the sting, with his fingers, " by 
which act," he says, "had not God been merciful unto me, 
I might by my desperateness have brought myself to my 
end." If this indeed were an adder, and not a harmless 
snake, his escape from the fangs was more remarkable than 
he was himself aware of. A circumstance which was likely 
to impress him more deeply, occurred in the eighteenth 
year of his age, when, being a soldier in the Parliament's 
army, he was drawn out to go to the siege of Leicester. 
One of the same company wished to go in his stead ; Bunyan 
consented to exchange with him ; and the volunteer substi- 
tute, standing sentinel one day at the siege, was shot through 
the head with a musket-ball. 

Some serious thoughts this would have awakened in a 
harder heart than Bunyan's; but his heart never was 
hardened. The self-accusations of such a man are to be 
received with some distrust,— not of his sincerity, but of 
his sober judgment. It should seem that he ran headlong 
into the boisterous vices which prove fatal to so many of 
the ignorant and brutal, for want of that necessary and 
wholesome and restrictive discipline which it is the duty of 
a government to provide ; but he was not led into those 
habitual sins which infix a deeper stain. "Had not a 
miracle of precious grace prevented, I had laid myself 
open," he says, " even to the stroke of those laws which 
bring some to disgrace and open shame before the face of 
the world." That grace he had. He was no drunkard; 
for, if he had been, he would loudly have proclaimed it: 
and, on another point, we have his own solemn declaration, 
in one of the most characteristic passages in his whole 
works/ where he replies to those who slandered him as lead- 
"ing a licentious life with women. "I call on theni," he 
says, "when they have used to the utmost of their en- 
deavors, and made the fullest inquiry that they can, to 



g LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

prove against me, truly, that there is any woman in heaven, 
or earth, or hell, that can say I have, at any time, in any 
place, by day or night, so much as attempted to be naught 
with them. And speak I thus to beg mine enemies into a 
good esteem of me ? No, not III will in this beg relief 
of no man. Believe or disbelieve me in this, 'tis all a-case 
fo"me.~""My foes have missed their mark in this their shoot- 
ing at me. I am not the man. I wish they themselves be 
guiltless. If all the fornicators and adulterers in England 
were hanged up by the neck till they be dead, John Bun- 
yan, the object of their envy, would be still alive and well. 
I know not whether there be such a thing as a woman 
breathing under the copes of heaven, but by their apparel 
their children, or by common fame, except my wife." And 
" for a wind-up in this matter," calling again, not only upon 
men, but angels, to prove him guilty if he be, and upon God 
for a record upon his soul, that in these things he was inno- 
cent, h'^ says, " not that I have been thus kept because of 
any goodness in me more than any other, but God has been 
merciful to me, and has kept me." 

Bunyan married presently after his substitute had been 
killed at the siege of Leicester, probably, therefore, before 
he was nineteen. This he might have counted among his 
mercies, as he has counted it that he was led "to light 
upon a wife" whose father, as she often told him, was a 
godly man, who had been used to reprove vice, both in his 
own house and among his neighbors, and had lived a strict 
and holy life, both in word and deed. There was no 
inprudence in this early marriage, though they " came to- 
gether PS poor as poor might be, not having so much house- 
hold stuff as a dish or spoon betwixt them both ; " for 
Bunyar had a trade to which he could trust, and the young 
woman had been trained up in the way she should go. She 
brought him for her portion two books, which her father 
had left her at his death. "The Plain Man'sJPathway _to 
Heaven" was one; the other was Bayly, ' Bishop of Baifc, 
^or's ^' Practice of Piety," which has been translated into 
"W<9lah (the author's native tongue), into Hungarian, and 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. ^ 

into i-olish, and of which more than fifty editions were pub- 
lished in the course of a hundred years. These books he 
sometimes read with her ; and they did not, he says, reach 
his heart to awaken it, yet they did beget within him some 
desires to reform his vicious life, and made him fall in 
eagerly with the religion of the times, go to church twice a 
day with the foremost, and there very devoutly say and sing 
as others did ; yet, according to his own account, retaining 
his wicked life. 

One day the minister preached against Sabbath-break- 
ing, and Bunyan, who used especially to follow his sports 
on Sundays, fell in conscience under that sermon, verily 
believing it was intended for him, and feeling what guilt 
was, which he could not remember that he had ever felt 
before. Home he went, with a great burden upon his 
spirit ; but dinner removed that burden ; his animal spirits 
recovered from their depression ; he shook the sermon out 
of his mind ; and away he went, with great delight, to his 
old sports. The Puritans, notwithstanding the outcry 
which they had raised against what is called the Book of 
Sports, found it necessary to tolerate such recreations on 
the Sabbath ; but it is more remarkable to find a married 
man engaged in games which are now only practised by 
boys. Dinner had for a time prevailed over that morning's 
sermon, but it was only for a time ; the dinner sat easy 
upon him — the sermon did not; and, in the midst of a 
game of cat, as he was about to strike the cat from the 
hole, it seemed to him as if a voice from heaven suddenly 
darted into his soul, and said, Wih thou leave thy sins, and 
go to heaven? or have thy sins,'^nd go to hell? " At this," 
ne continues, " I was put to an exceeding maze ; wherefore, 
leaving my cat upon the ground, I looked up to heaven, and 
was as if I had, with the eyes of my understanding, seen 
the Lord Jesus looking down upon me, as being very hotly 
displeased with me, and as if he did severely threaten me 
with some grievous punishment for these and other ungodly 
ractices." 

was from heaven ; and it may be 



lO LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN-. 

inferred, from his relation, that though he was sensible the 
vision was only seen with the mind's eye, he deemed it not 
the less real. The effect was to fasten upon his spirit a sud- 
den and dreadful conclusion, that it was too late for him to 
turn away from his wickedness, for Christ would not forgive 
him. He felt his heart sink in despair ; and this insane rea- 
soning passed in his mind, " My state is surel}^ miserable, — 
miserable if I leave my sins, and but miserable if I follow 
them. I can but be damned ; and if I must be so, I had as 
good be damned for many sins, as be damned for fewc" 
Thus he says, " I stood in the midst of my play, before all 
that were present, but yet I told them nothing ; but having 
made this conclusion, I returned desperately to my sport 
again. And I well remember that presently this kind of 
despair did so possess my soul, that I was persuaded I could 
never attain to other comfort than what I should get in sin \ 
for heaven was gone already, so that on that I must not think. 
Wherefore I found within me great desire to take my fill of 
sin, still studying what sin was yet to be committed, that I 
might taste the sweetness of it, — lest I should die before I 
had my desires. In these things, I protest before God, I lie 
not; neither do I frame this sort of speech: these were 
really, strongly, and with all my heart, my desires. The 
good Lord, whose mercy is unsearchable, forgive me my 
transgressions ! " 

When thus faithfully describing the state of his feelings 
at that time, Bunyan was not conscious that he exaggerated 
the character of his offences. Yet, in another part of his 
writings, he qualifies those offences more truly, where he 
speaks of himself as having been addicted to " all manner 
of youthful vanities;" and this relation itself is accompa- 
nied with a remark, that it is a usual temptation to the 
devil, " to overrun the spirits with a scurvy and seared frame 
of heart, and benumbing of conscience ; " so that, though 
there be not much guilt attending the poor creatures who 
are thus tempted, " yet they continually have a secret con- 
clusion within them, that there is no hope for them." This 
Btate lasted with him_little more than a month ; it then hap* 



LIFE OF JOHN B UNYAN, ; B 

pened, that as he stood at a neighbor's shop-window, " cufs- 
Tn^lind swearing, and playing the madman," after his wonted 
manner, the woman of the house heard him ; and though she 
was, hesays, a very loose and ungodly wretch, she told him 
that he made her tremble to hear him ; " that he was the un- 
godliest fellow for swearing that ever she heard in all her 
life ; and that, by thus doing, he was able to spoil all the 
youth in the whole town, if they came but in his company." 
The reproof came with more effect than if it had come from a 
better person. It silenced him, and i)ut him to secret shame ; 
and that, too, as he thought, " before the God of heaven ; 
wherefore," he says, " while I stood there, and hanging down 
my head, I wished with all my heart that I might be a little 
child again, that my father might learn me to speak without 
this wicked_\^ay of swearing; for, thought I, I am so ac- 
" customed to it, that it is in vain for me to think of a reformat 
tion." From that hour, however, the reformation of this, 
the only actual sin to which he was addicted, began. Even 
to his own wonder it took place, and he who till then had 
not known how to speak unless he put an oath before and 
another behind to make his words have authority, discov 
ered that he could speak better and more pleasantly without 
such expletives than he had ever done before. 

Soon afterwards he fell in company with a poor man 
who talked to him concerning religion and the scriptures, 
in a manner which took his attention, and sent him to his 
Bible. He began to take pleasure in reading it, especially 
the historical parts ; the Epistles he says he " could not away 
with, being as yet ignorant both of the corruption of our 
nature and of the want and worth of Christ to save us." 
And this produced such a change in his whole deportment, 
that his neighbors took him to be a new man, and were 
amazed at his conversation from prodigious profaneness to 
a moral and religious life. They began to speak well of 
him, both to his face and behind his back, and he was well 
pleased at having obtained, and, as he thought, deserved, 
their good opinion. And yet, he says, " I was nothing but 
a poor painted hypocri^te, — I did all I did either to be seen 



„ LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

of, or to be well spoken of, by men. I knew not Christ, not 
Grace, nor Faith, nor Hope ; and as I have well seen since, 
iad I then died, my state had been most fearful." 

Bunyan had formerly taken great delight in bell-ringing ; 
but now that his conscience " began to be tender," he thought 
it " a vain practice," in other words, a sin ; yet he so hank- 
ered after this his old exercise, that though he durst not pull 
a rope himself, he would go and look at the ringers, not 
without a secret feeling that to do so was unbecoming the 
religious character which he now professed. A fear came 
upon him that one of the bells might fall. To secure him- 
self against such an accident, he stood under a beam that lay 
athwart the steeple, from side to side ; but his apprehen- 
sions being once awakened, he then considered that the bell 
might fall with a swing, hit the wall first, rebound, and so 
strike him in it; descent. Ui^on this he retired to the steeple- 
door, thinking himself safe enough there, for if the bell 
should fall he could slip out. Further than the door he did 
not venture, nor did he long continue to think himself secure 
there ; for the next fancy which possessed him was that the 
steeple itself might fall ; and this so possessed him and so 
shook his mind, that he dared not stand at the door longen 
but fled for fear the tower should come down upon him, — 
to such a state of nervous weakness had a diseased feeling 
brought his strong body and strong mind. The last amuse- 
ment from which he weaned himself was that of dancing. 
It was a full year before he could quite leave that ; but in so 
doing, and in anything in which he thought he was perform- 
ing his duty, he had s«ch peace of mind, such satisfaction, 
that — " to relate it," he says, " in mine own way, I thought 
no man in England could please God better than I. Poor 
wretch as I was, I was all this while ignorant of Jesus Christ, 
and going about to establish my own righteousness, and had 
perished therein, had not God in mercy showed me more 
of my state by nature." 

Some of the RantersV books were put into Bunyan'a 
lian3s. Their effect was to perplex him. He read in them^ 
and thought upon them, and betook himself properly and 



LIFE OI' JOHN BUNYAIV. |^ ' 

earnestly thus to prayer : " Lord, I am not able to tnow the 
truth from error: leave me not to my own blindness, either 
to approve of, or condemn, this doctrine. If it be of God, 

TlTme not despise it ; if it be of the Devil, let me not em- 
brace it. Lord, I lay my soul in this matter only at thy feet ; 
let me not be deceived, I humbly beseech thee!" And he 

""was not deceived ; for though he fell in with many persons, 

""who, from a strict profession of religion, had persuaded 
^themselves that having now attained to the perfection of the 

"faints, they_were discharged from all obligations of moral- 
llEy^'an^rnothing which it might please them to do would be 
accounted to them as sin, — neither their evil arguments nor 
their worse example infected him. *'0h," he says, "these 
temptations were suitable to my flesh, I being but a young 
man, and my nature in its prime ; but God, who had, as I 
^ope, designed me for better things, kept me in the fear of 
his name, and did not suffer me to accept such cursed prin. 
ciples. And blessed be God who put it in my heart to cry 
to him to be kept and directed, still distrusting mine own 
wisdom." 

These people could neither corrupt his conscience nor 
impose upon his understanding ; he had no sympathies with 
them. But one day when he was tinkering in the streets of 
Bedford, he overheard three or four poor women, who, as 
they sat at a door in the sunshine, were conversing about 
their own spiritual state. He was himself " a brisk talker in 

"" ^he matter of religion;" but these persons were, in their 

""^"discourse, " far above his reach." Their talk was about ^ 
new birth, — how they were convinced of their miserable 
state by nature, — how God had visited their souls with his 
love in the Lord Jesus, — with what words and promises 
they had been refreshed and supported against the tempta- 

^^ions of the Devil, — how they had been afflicted under the 
assaults of the enemy, and how they had been borne up \ 

*""and of their own wretchedness of heart, and of their unbe- 
'^ef, and the insufficiency of their own righteousness. " Mfe^:', 
thought," says Bunyan, "they spake, as if you did make 
them speaku They spake with ^ufjb plftasant.nfia^ ©f Scrip"- 



j^ LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

ture language, and with such appearance of grace in all they 
said, that they were to me as if they had found a new world, 
as if they were ' people that dwelt alone, and were not to be 
reckoned among their neighbors.'" lie felt his own heart 
shake as he heard them ; and when he turned away, and 
went about his employment again, their talk went with him, 
for he had heard enough to convince him that he " wanted 
the true tokens of a true godly man," and to convince him 
also of the blessed condition of him that was indeed one. 

ETe made it his business, therefore, frequently to seek the 
conversation of these women. They were members of a 
small Baptist congregation which a Kentish man, John 
Gifford by name, had formed at Bedford. The first effect 
of his conversation with them was that he began to look 
into the Bible with new eyes, and " indeed was never out of 
it," either by reading or meditation. He now took delight 
in St. Paul's Epistles, which before he " could not away 
with ; " and the first strong impression which they made 
upon him was that he wanted the gifts of wisdom and 
knowledge of which the Apostle speaks, and was doubtful 
whether he had faith or not ; yet this was a doubt which he 
could not bear, being certain that if he were without faith, 
he must perish. Being " put to his plunge " about this, and 
not as yet consulting with any one, he conceived that the 
only means by which he could be certified was by trying to 
work a miracle, a delusion which he says the tempter en- 
forced and strengthened by urging upon him those texts of 
Scripture that seemed to look that way. One day, as he 
was between Elstow and Bedford, the temptation was hot 
upon him that he should j^ut this to the proof by saying 
" to the puddles that were in the horse-pads, he dry ; and to 
the dry places, he ye puddles ! And truly one time I was 
going to say so, indeed ; but, just as I was about to speak, 
this thought came in my mind, * but go under yonder hedge, 
and pray first that God would make you able. ' But when I 
had concluded to pray, this came hot upon me, that if I 
prayed and came again, and tried to do it, and yet did noth- 
ing notwithstanding, then to be sure I had no faith, but waa 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAJSr. x^ 

a castaway, and lost. Nay, thought I, if it be so, I will not 
try yet, but will stay a little longer." 

About this time the happiness of his poor acquaintmce 
whom he believed to be in a sanctified state was presented 
to him, he says, in a kind of vision, — that is, it became the 
subject of a reverie, a waking dream, — in which the germ 
of the " Pilgrim's Progress " may plainly be perceived. " I 
saw," he says, "as if they were on the sunny side of some 
high mountain, there refreshing themselves with the pleas- 
ant beams of the sun, while I was shivering and shrinking 
in the cold, afflicted with frost, snow, and dark clouds. Me- 
thought also, betwixt me and them I saw a wall that did 
compass about this mountain. Now through tliis wall my 
soul did greatly desire to pass ; concluding that if I could, 
I would even go into the very midst of them, and there also 
comfort myself with the heat of their sun. About this wall 
I thought myself to go again and again, still praying as I 
went, to see if I could find some way or passage, by which 
I might enter therein ; but none could I find for some time. 
At the hist I saw, as it were, a narrow gap, like a little 
doorway, in the wall, through which I attempted to pass. 
Now the passage being very straight and narrow, I made 
many efforts to get in, but all in vain, even until I was well 
nigh quite beat out by striving to get in. At last, with great 
striving, methought I at llrst did get in my head ; and after 
that, by a sideling striving, my shoulders, and my whole 
body : then was I exceeding glad, went and sat down in the 
midst of them, and so was comforted with the light and heat 
of their sun. Now the Mountain and Wall, <fcc., was thus 
made out to me. The Mountain signified the Church of the 
Living God ; the Sun that shone thereon, the comfortable 
shining of his merciful Face on them that were within ; the 
"Wall, I thought, was the Word, that did make separation 
between the Christians and the World : and the Gap which 
was in the Wall, I thought, was Jesus Christ, who is the 
Way to God the Father. But forasmuch as the passage 
was wonderful narrow, even so narrow that I could not but 
with great difficulty enter in thereat, it showed me that 



,g LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN 

none could enter into life but those that were in downright 
earnest ; and unless, also, they left that wicked World be- 
hind them ; for here was only room for Body and Soul, but 
not for Body and Soul and Sin." 

But though he now prayed wherever he was, at home or 
abroad, in the house or in the field, two doubts still as- 
saulted him, — whether he was elected, and whether the day 
of grace was not gone by. By the force and power of the 
first he felt, even when he " was in a flame to find the way to 
Heaven," as if the strength of his body were taken from 
him ; and he found a stumbling-block in the text, " itjs 
neither in him that willeth, nor in him that runneth, buf m" 
God that showeth mercy." (Romans, ix. 16 ; 2 ficclesiasti- 
qus, ii. 10.) It seemed to him that though he should desire 
and long and labor till his heart broke, no good could come 
of it, unless he were a chosen vessel of mercy. "There- 
fore," he says, " this would stick with me, * how can you tell 
that you are elected ? and what if you should not ? ' Oh, 
Lord, thought I, what if I should not, indeed ! It may be 
you or not, said the tempter. It may be so, indeed, thought 
I. Why, then, said Satan, you had as good leave off, and 
Btrive no further." And then the tex/^ that disturbed him 
came again into his mind ; and he knowing not wnat to say 
nor how to answer, was "driven to his wit's end, little 
dreaming," he says, " that Satan had thus assaulted him, 
but that it was his own prudence which had started the 
question." In an evil hour were the doctrines of the Gos- 
pel sophisticated with questions which should have been left 
in the schools for those who are unwise enough to employ 
themselves in excogitations of useless subtlety ! Many are 
the poor creatures whom such questions have driven to de- 
spair and madness, and suicide ; and no one more narrowly 
escaped from such a catastrophe than Bunyan. 

After many weeks, when he was even " giving up the 
ghost of all his hopes," another text suddenly occurred to 
him : "Look at the generations of old, and see, did any ever 
trust in the Lord, and was confounded ? " He went, with 
lightened heart, to his Bible, fully expecting to find it there, 



tTFR OF rOHN BUN-YAN. I« 

bat he found it not, and the " good people " whom he asked 
wh( re it was, told him they knew of no such place. But in 
the Bible he was well assured it was, and the text which 
had " seized upon his heart with such comfort and strength," 
abode upon him for more than a year ; when looking into 
the Apocrypha (Ecclesiasticus, ii. 10), there he met with it; 
•and was at iirst, he says, somewhat daunted at finding it there, 
not in the canonic^al books. " Yet," lie says, " forasmuch 
"aTthis sentence was the sum and substance of many of the 
promises, it was my duty to take the comfort of it; and I 
blessed God for that word, for it was of good to me." But 
then the other doubt, which had lain dormant, awoke again 
in strength : " How if the day of grace be past ? What if 
the good peoi^le of Bedford who were already converted, 
were all that were to be saved in those parts?" He then 
was too late, for they had got the blessing before he came I 
*' Oh, that I had turned sooner," was then his cry. " Oh, 
that I had turned seven years ago ! To think that I should 
trifle away my time, till my Soul and Heaven were lost ! " 

Frjom these fears the occurrence of another passage in 
Scripture delivered him for a while, and he has remarked 
that it came into his mind just in the same place where he 
*' received his other encouragement." The text was that in 
which the servant who had been sent into the streets and 
lanes to bring in the poor, and the maimed, and the halt, and ' 
~15Tin3,'to the supper from which the bidden guests absented ''' 
themselves, returns and says to the master of the house, 
"Lord, it is done as thou hast commanded, and yet there is 
joofn ! " (Luke^xiv. 22.) "These," says Bunyan, "were 
sweet words to me! for truly I thought that by them I saw 
there was place enough in Heaven for me ; and moreover 
that when the Lord Jesus did speak these words. He then 
did think of me ; and that He, knowing the time would 
come when I should be afilicted with fear that there was no 
place left for me in His bosom, did speak this word, and 
leave it upon record, that I might find help thereby againsi 
^Tm vxle temptation. This I then verily believed." 



jg LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN 

But then came another fear. None but those who are 
called, can inherit the kingdom of Heaven ; and this he ap- 
'Jrehended was not his case. With longings and breathings 
in his soul which, he says, are not to be expressed, he cried 
on Christ to call him, being " uU on aflame " to be in a con- 
verted state. " Gold ! couW it have been gotten for gold, 
what would I have given for it ! Had I had a whole world, 
it had all gone ten thousand times over for this." Much as 
he had formerly respected and venerated the ministers of 
the Church, with higher admiration he now regarded those 
who, he thought, had attained to the condition for which he 
was longing. They were " lovely in his eyes ; they shone, 
they walked, like a people that carried the broad seal of 
Heaven about them." When he read of those whom our 
Saviour called, when he was upon earth, to be his disciples, 
the wishes which his heart conceived were, "Would I had 
been Peter: . . . would I had been John : ... or would I 
had been by and heard Him when He called them ! How 
would I have cried, O Lord, call me also ! " In this state 
of mind, but comforting himself with hoping that if he were 
not already converted, the time might come when he should 
be so, he imparted his feelings to those poor women wnose 
conversation had first brought him into these perplexities 
and struggles. They reported his case to Mr. Gifford, and 
Gifford took occasion to talk with him, and invited him to 
his house, where he might hear him confer vrith others 
" about the dealings of God with their souls." 

This course was little likely to compose a mind so agi. 
tated. Vf hat he heard in such conferences rather induced 
fresh disquiet, and misery of another kind. The inward 
wretchedness of his wicked heart, he says, began now to b*, 
discovered to him, and to work as it had never done before 
He was now conscious of sinful thoughts and desires, which 
lie had not till then regarded ; and in persufviiug h 't. that 
Ais heart was innately and wholly' wicked, his spiritu a* physi- 
cian had well nigh made him believe that it was hopelessly 
and incurably so. In vain did those to whom he applied 
for consolation tell him of the promises- They might a* 



UFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, w^ 

well have told him to reach the sun, as to reiy upon the 
promises, he says. Original and inward pollution was the 
plague and affliction which made him loathsome in his own 
eyes ; and, as in his dreadful state of mind, he believed, in 
the eyes of his Creator also! Sin and Corruption, he 
thought, would as naturally bubble out of his heart as water 
from a fountain. None but the Devil, he was persuaded, 
could equal him for inward wickedness ! " Sure," thought 
he, " I am forsaken of God ! Sure I am given up to the 
Devil, and to a reprobate mind ! I was sorry that God had 
made me man. I counted myself alone, and, above the most 
of men, unblessed ! " These were not the t .nnents of a 
guilty conscience ; for he observes that "the guilt of the sins 
of his ignorance was never much charged upon him ; " and 
as to the act of sinning, during the years that he continued 
in tins pitiable state, no man could more scrupulously avoid 
what seemed to him sinful in thought, word, or deed. 
" Oh," he says, " how gingerly did I then go, in all I did or 
said I I found myself as in a miry bog, that shook if I did 
but stir, and was as there left both of God and Christ, and 
the Spirit, and all good things." False notions of that cor- 
ruption of our nature which it is almost as perilous to ex- 
aggerate as to dissemble, had laid upon him a burden heavy 
as that with which his own Christian begins his pilgrimage. 
The first comfort which he received, and which, had 
there not been a mist before his understanding, he might 
have found in every page of the Gospel, came to him in a 
sermon, upon a strange text, strangely handled : '^ehoid, 
thou art^fair, my Love ; behold, thou art fair ! " (Solomon's 
Song,,iy^i,) The Preacher made the words " my Love" 
his chief and subject matter; and one sentence fastened 
ap~on Bunyan's mind. " If," said the Preacher, " it be so, 
that the saved Soul is Christ's Love, when wider temptation 
and destruction, then, poor tempted Soul, when thou art 
assaulted and afflicted with temptations, and the hidings of 
God's face, yet think on these two words, ^ My Lovc^ stiUI" 
]|grhat shall I get by thinking on these two words ? said 
Bunyan to himself, as he returned home, ruminating upon 



90 ^^FE OF JOHN BUN Y A AT. 

this discourse. And then, twenty times together, " thou 
art my Love, thou art my Love," recurred in mental repeti- 
tion, kindling his spirit ; and still, he says, " as they ran in 
my mind they waxed stronger and warmer, and began to 
make me look up. But being as yet between hope and fear, 
I still replied, in my heart, ' but is it true ? but is it true ? ' 
At which that sentence fell upon me, ' He wist not that it 
was true which was come unto him of the Angel.' (Acts, xii. 
9.) Then I began to give place to the Word, — and now I 
could believe that my sins should be forgiven me : yea, I was 
now taken with the love and mercy of God, that, I remem- 
ber, I could not tell how to contain till I got home. I thought 
I could have spoken of His love, and have told of His mercy 
to me, even to the very crows that sat upon the ploughed 
lands before me, had they been capable to have understood 
me. Wherefore I said in my soul, with much gladness. Well, 
I would I had a pen and ink here, I would write this down 
before I go any farther, for surely I will not forget this 
forty years hence. But alas ! within less than forty days I 
began to question all again ! '' 

Shaken continually thus by the hot and cold fits of a 
spiritual ague, his imagination was wrought to a state of ex- 
citement in which its own shapings became vivid as reali- 
ties, and affected him more forcibly than impressions from 
the external world. He heard sounds, as in a dream ; and, as 
in a dream, held conversations which were inwardly audible 
though no sounds were uttered, and had all the connection 
and coherency of an actual dialogue. Real they w^ere to 
him in the impression which they made, and in their lasting 
effect ; and even afterwards, when liis soul was at peace, he 
believed them, in cool and sober reflection, to have been 
more than natural. Some few days after the sermon, he 
was much " followed," he says, by these words of the Gos- 
pel : " Simon, Simon, behold Satan hath desired to have 
you ! " (Luke, "iSil- ^^T ^^ Kew" that it was a voice 
from within, and yet it was so articulately distinct, so loud, 
and called, as he says, so strongly after him, that once in 
particular when thp words, " Simon ! Simon ! " rung in his 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNY AN, 21 

ears, lie verity thought some man had called to him from a 
distance behind ; and though it was not his name, supposed 
nevertheless that it was addressed to him, and looked round 
suddenly to see by whom. As this had been the loudest, so 
it was the last time that the call sounded in his ears ; and 
he imputes it to his ignorance and foolishness at that time, 
that he knew not the reason of it ; for soon, he says, he was 
feelingly convinced that it was sent from Heaven as an 
alarm, for him to provide against the coming storm, — a 
storm which " handled him twenty times worse than all he 
had met with before." 

But while Bunyan suffered thus grievously under the 
belief that these thoughts and fancies were the immediate 
suggestions of the Evil Spirit, that belief made him at times 
more passionate in prayer ; and then his heart " put forth 
itself with inexpressible groanings," and his whole soul was 
in every word. And although he had not been taught in 
childhood to lay up the comfortable j^romises of the Gospel 
in his heart and in his soul, that they might be as a sign upon 
his hand and as a frontlet between his eyes, yet he had not 
read the Bible so diligently without some profit. Whenjie 
mused upon these words in the Prophet Jeremiah, " thou 

^ hast played * the harlot with many lovers, yet, return again 
to me, saith the Lord," (Jer. iii. i.), he felt that they were ; 
some support to him, as applying to his case ; and so, also, 
was that saying of the same Prophet (Jer. v. 4), that 
though we have done and spoken as evil things as we could, 
yet shall we cry unto God, " My Father, thou art the guide 
of my youth !" and return unto him. More consolation he 
derived from the Apostle, who says, " He hath made Him. 

"Ip^be sin for us, who knew no sin, that we might be made the 

"righteousness of God in Him." (2 Cor. 21.) And again, 
" if God be for us, who can be against us? " (Ilom, 8 : 31.) 
And again, " For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, 
nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, 

"nor things to come; nor height, nor depth, nor any other 

creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, 

""%hicli is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Rom.'s : 38. 39.) This 



v*K- 



S2 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 



also was a help^^to him, "Because I love, ye shall love 

^^''SlsoT^'X'^ohn 14 : 19.) These, he says, were " but hints, 

touches, and short visits ; very sweet when present, only 

they lasted not." Yet after a while he felt himself not only 

"delivered from, the guilt which these things laid upon his 

"Conscience, "hut also "from the very filth thereof.", .The 

'**temptation was removed, and he thou2:ht himself " put into 

his right,^mind againj' 

While Bunyan was in this state, a translation of Luther's 
Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians fell into his 
hands, — an old book, so tattered and thumb-worn, " that it 
was ready to fall piece from piece if he did but turn it over." 
Here, in the work of that passionate and mighty mind, he 
saw his own soul reflected as in a glass. " I had but a little 
way perused it," he says, " when I found my condition in 
his experience so largely and profoundly handled as if his 
book had been written out of my heart." And in later life 
he thought it his duty to declare that he preferred this 
book of Martin Luther before all the books he had ever 
seen (the Bible only excepted), as fittest for a wounded 
conscience. 

Mr. Coleridge has delineated, with his wonted and pecu- 
liar ability, the strong resemblance between Luther and 
Rousseau, — men who, to ordinary observers, would appear 
in the constitution of their minds most unlike each other. 
In different stages of his mental and spiritual growth, 
Bunyan had resembled both : like Rousseau, he had been 
tempted to set the question of his salvation upon a cast ; 
like Luther, he had undergone the agonies of unbelief 
and deadly fear, and, according to his own persuasion, 
wrestled with the Enemy. I know not whether any par- 
allel is to be found for him in the next and strangest part 
of his history ; for now, when he was fully convinced that 
his faith had been confirmed by special evidence from 
Heaven, when his desire was to die and be with Christ, an 
almost unimaginable temptation, which he might well call 
more grievous and dreadful than any with which he had been 
afflicted, came upon him ; it was " to sell and part with Christ, 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 23 

-to exchange him for the things of this life, — for anything." 
j^or the space of a year he was haunted by this strange and 
hateful suggestion ; and so continually that he was " not rid 
of it one day in a month, nor sometimes one hour in many 
succeeding days," unless in his sleep. It intermixed itself 
with whatever he thought or did. " I could neither eat my 
food," he says, " stoop for a pin, chop a stick, or cast mine 
eye to look on this or that, but still the temptation would 
come, ' sell Christ for this, or sell Christ for that ; sell Him, 
sell Him, sell Him ! ' Sometimes it would run in my thoughts 
not so little as an hundred times togetlier, ' sell Him, sell 
Him, sell Him, sell Him!' Against which, I may say, fc^' 
whole hours together, I have been forced to stand as con^ 
tinually leaning and forcing my spirit against it, lest haply, 
before I were aware, some wicked thought might arise iiw 
my heart, that might consent thereto : and sometimes the 
Tempter would make me believe I had consented to it ; but 
then should I be tortured upon a rack for whole days to- 
gether. This temptation did put me to such scares, — that, 
by the very force of my mind, in laboring to gainsay and 
resist this wickedness, my very body would be put into ac- 
tion, — ^by way of pushing or tlu'usting with my hands or 
elbows, st^') answering as fast as the Destroyer said ' sell 
Him,' ' I will not ! I will not ! I will not ! No, not for thou- 
sands, thousands, thousands of worlds ! ' and thus did I 
scarce know where I was, or how to be composed again." 

In this strange state of mind he had continued about a 
year, when, one morning as he lay in bed, the wicked sug- 
gestion still running in his mind, " sell Him, sell Him, sell 
Him, sell Him," as fast as a man could speak, and he an- 
swering as fast, " No, no, not for thousands, thousands, thou* 
sands," till he was almost out of breath, he felt this thought 
pass through his heart, " Let Him go, if He will," and it 
seemed to him that his heart freely consented thereto. " Oh,'* 
he exclaims, "the diligence of Satan ! Oh, the desperateness 
of man's heart ! Now was the battle won, and down fell I, 
?^ a bird that is shot, from the top of a tree, into great guilt 
j;id fearful despair. , Thus getting out of my bed, I went 



24 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

moping into the field, but God knows with as heavy a heart 
as mortal man, I think, could bear ; where, for the space ot 
two hours, I was like a man bereft of life ; and as now past 
all recovery, and bound over to eternal punishment." Then, 
it occurred to him what is said of Esau by the author of the 
Epistl6 to the Hebrews (Heb. 12 : 16, 17), how having sold 
his birthright, when he would afterwards have inherited the 
Bt^gsingjTie was rejected; for "he found no place of re- 
pentance, though he sought it carefully with tears." At the 
riecoirectioh of a better text (John 1 : 7), the words of that 
discij^le (blessed above all men) whom Jesus loved, he had 
for a while such relief that he began to conceive peace in his 
soul again, " and methought," says he, " I saw as if the 
Tempter did leer and steal away from me as being ashamed 
of what he had done." But this was only like a passing 

^leam of sunshine ; the sound of Esau's fate was always iti 
his ears ; his case was worse than Esau's, v/orse than David^s ; 
Peter's came nigher to it; yet Peter's was only a denial of 
his master, this a selling of his Saviour. He came nearer, 
therefore, to Judas than to Peter ! And though he was 
yet sane enough to consider that the sin of Judas had been 
deliberately committed, whereas his, on the contrary, was 
" against his prayer and striving, — in a fearful hurry, on a 
sudden," the relief which that consideration brought was 

imt-lHtle,aLnd only for a while: The Sentence concerning 
Esau^ literally taken and more unhaj^pily applied, fell like a 
hot thunderbolt upon his conscience ; " then should I, for 
wtole days together, feel my very body, as well as my mind, 
to shake and totter under the sense of this dreadful judg- 
ment of God ; — such a clogging an9 heat also at my stomach, 
by reason of this my terror, that I was sometimes as if my 
breastbone would split asunder." And then he called to 
mind how Judas burst asunder ; and feared that a continual 
trembling like his was the very" mark'tliat'Ead'lDeeh set on 
Cain; and thus did he "twist, and twine, and shrink" un- 
der a burthen which so oppressed him that he could " neither 
stand, nor go, nor lie, either at rest or quiet." 

This fatal sentence naRRp.a&p.d him so strongly that when 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 25 

ifeinHng on the words in Isaiah, " I have blotted out as a 
ihick cloud thy transgressions, and as a cloud thy sins ; re- 
""lEufn unto me, for I have redeemed thee " (Isa. 44 : 22) ; and 
.^When i t seemed to his diseased imagination that this text 
Balled audibly and loudly after him, as if pursuing him, so 
Tioudly as to make him, he says, look, as it were, over his 
shoulder, behind him, to see if the God of Grace were fol- 
lowing him with a pardon in His hand, — the echo of the 
game sentence still sounded in his conscience ; and when he 
heard, " Return unto me, for I have redeemed thee ; return, 
return ! " articulated, as it seemed to him, with a loud voice, 
it was overpowered by the inward echo, " he found no place 
""ol repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears." 

It was at a meeting with his fellow-believers, when his 
"fears again were prevailing, that the words for which he 
"Toriged, according to his own expression, " broke in " upon 
^"liim, " My Grace is sufficient for thee, my Grace is sufficient 
"Jor thee, my Grace is sufficient for thee," — three times to- 
"^geCKerr He was then as though he had seen the Lord look 
""^bwn from Heaven upon him " through the tiles," and direct 
"^^^these words to him. It sent him mourning home ; it broke 
***'tis heart, and filled him full of joy, and laid him low as the 
'^^'^^ust. And now he began to venture upon examining 
'^''^those most fearful and terrible Scriptures," on which till 
now he scarcely dared cast his eyes, " yea, had much ado 
an hundred times to forbear wishing them out of the Bible." 
He began " to come close to them, to read them, and con- 
sider them, and to weigh their scope and tendency." The 
result was a clear perception that he had not fallen quite 
away ; that his sin, though devilish, had not been consented 
to, and put in practice, and that after deliberation — not pub- 
lic and open ; that the texts which had hitherto so appalled 
him were yet consistent with those which proffered forgive- 
ness and salvation. "And now remained only the hinder 
part of the tempest, for the thunder was gone past ; only 
some drops did still remain." And when one day, in the 
field, the words, " Thy righteousness is in Heaven," occurred 
to him, " methought withal," he says, " I saw with the eyes 



26 UFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, 

of my soul, Jesus Christ at God's right hand, — tliere, I say, 
as my righteousness, — for my righteousness was Christ him- 
self, 'the same yesterday, and to-day, and forever.' " (Heb, 
13: 8.) Then his chains fell off in very deed: he was 
loosed from his affliction, and his temptation fled away. 

This was after two years and a half of incessant agitation 
and wretchedness. Banyan thought he could trace the 
cause of this long temptation to a sin which he had com- 
mitted, and to a culpable omission. He had, during the 
time when doubt and unbelief assailed him, tempted the 
Lord by asking of him a sign whereby it might appear that 
the secret thoughts of the heart were known to him ; and 
he omitted, when praying earnestly for the r moval of pres- 
ent troubles, and for assurances of faith, to pray that he 
might be kept from temptation. " This," he says, " I had 
not done, and therefore was thus suffered to sin and fall. 
And truly this very thing is to this day of sucli weight and 
awe upon me, that I dare not, when I come before the Lord* 
go off my knees, until I entreat Him for help and mercy 
against the temptations that are to come : and I do beseech 
thee. Reader, that thou learn to beware of my negligence, 
by the affliction that for this thing I did, for days, and 
months, and years, with sorrow undergo." Far more satis- 
factorily could he trace in himself the benefits which he de- 
rived from this long and dreadful course of suffering, under 
which a weaker body must have sunk, and from which it is 
almost miraculous that any mind should have escaped with- 
out passing into incurable insanity. Before that trial, his 
soul had been " perplexed with unbelief, blasphemy, hard- 
ness of heart, questions about the Being of God, Christ, 
the truth of the Word, and the certainty of the world to 
come." "Then," he says, "I was greatly assaulted and 
tormented with atheism ; but now the case was otherwise 
now was God and Christ continually b:fore my face, though 
not in a way of comfort, but in a way of exceeding dread 
and terror. The glory of the holiness of God did at this 
time break me to pieces ; and the bowels and compassion of 
Christ did break me as on the wheel ; for I could not con- 



Jt^Fl!, OirJOHN BUNYAN. a> 

§ider him but as a lost an<!f rejected Christ, the remembrance 
of which was as the continual breaking of my bones. The 
Scriptures also were wonderful things unto me. I saw that 
the truth and verity of them were the keys of the kingdom 
of Heaven : those that the Scriptures favor, thiy must in- 
herit bliss ; but those that they oppose and condemn must 
perish for evermore. Oh ! one sentence of the Scripture 
did more afflict and terrify my mind — I mean those sen- 
tences that stood against me (as sometimes I tliought they 
every one did) — more, I say, than an army of forty thou- 
sand men that might come ag^'nst me. Woe be to him 
against whom the Scriptures bend themselves I " 

But this led him to search the Bible and dwell upon it 
with an earnestness and intensity which no determination 
of a calmer mind could have commanded. " This made me," 
Ae says, " with careful heart and watchful eye, with great 
fearfulness, to turn over every leaf, and with much diligence 
mixed with trembling to consider every sentence, together 
with its natural force and attitude. By this, also, I was 
gi'eatly holden off my former foolish practice of putting by 
the Word of Promise when it came into my mind : for now, 
though I could not suck that comfort and sweetness from 
the promise as I had done at other times, yea, like to a man 
a-sinking, I should catch at all I saw ; formerly I thought I 
might not meddle with the Promise, unless I felt its com 
fort ; but now 'twas no time thus to do, the Avenger of 
Blood too hardly did pursue me." If, in the other writings 
of Bunyan, and especially in that which has made his name 
immortal, we discover none of that fervid language in which 
his confessions and self-examination are recorded, — none of 
those " thoughts that breathe and words that burn," — none 
of that passion m which the reader so far participates as to 
be disturbed and distressed by it, — here we perceive how he 
acquired that thorough and familiar acquaintance with the 
Scriptures which in these works is manifested. "Now, 
therefore, I was glad," he says, "to catch at that Word, 
which yet I had no ground or right to own ; and even to 
leap into the bosom of that Pronrse that yet I feared did 



38 ^/^-e OF IQHN BUNYAN 

shut Its heart agaixist me. Now, also, I should labor to take 
the Word as God hath laid it down, without restraining the 
natural force of one syllable thereof. Oh, what did I now 
see in that blessed sixth of John, " and him that comes to 
me I icill m no wise cast outy (John vi. 37.) Xowl began 
"^to consider with myself that God hath a bigger mouth to 
speak with than I had a heart to conceive with. I thought 
also with myself that He spake not His words in haste, or 
m an unadvised heat, but v/itli infinite wisdom and judg- 
meht, and in very truth and faithfulness. I should in the^e 
days, often in my greatest agonies, even flounce towards the 
Promise (as the horses do towards sound ground, that yet 
stick in the mire), concluding (though as one almost bereft 
of his wits through fear) *on this I will rest and stay, and 
leave the fulfilling of it to the God of Heaven tliat mrde 
it I' Oh,"many a pull hath my heart had with Satan for 
tSat blessed sixth of John ! I did not now, as at other 
"^M^^;' took principally for comfort (though, oh, how wel- 
come would it have been unto me !), but now, a Word, a 
'Word to lean a weary soul upon, that it might not sink for-* 
^Ver ! 'twas that I hunted for f Yea, often when I have 
bjen making to the Promise, I have seen as if the Lord 
would refuse my soul forever. I was often as if I had run 
upon the pikes, and as if the Lord had thrust at me, to keep 
me from Him, as with a flaming sword \ '' — ,..,^-^- 

When Bunyan passed from this horrible condition into 
a state of happy feeling, his mind was nearly overthrown 
by the transition. "I had two or three times," he says, 
** at or about my deliverance from this temptation, such 
strange apprehensions of the Grace of God that I could 
hardly bear up under it. It was so out of measure amazing 
when 1 thought it could reach me, that I do not think if 
that sense of it had abode long upon me, it would have mado 
me uncapable of business." He had not, however, yet at- 
tained to that self-control which belongs to a sane mind : for 
after he had formally been admitted into fellowship with 
Gifiord's little congregation, and had been by him baptized 
accordingly, by immersion, probably in the river Ouse (for the 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, ag 

Baptists at that time sought rather than shunned publicity 
on such occasions), he was for nearly a year pestered with 
strange and villanous thoughts whenever he communicated 
at the meeting. These, however, left him. When threat- 
ened with consumption at one time, he was delivered from 
the fear of dissolution, by faith, and the strong desire of en« 
termg upon eternal life ; and in another illness, when the 
thought of approaching death for awhile overcame him, 
" behold," he says, " as I was in the midst of those fears, 
the words of the Angels carrying Lazarus into Abraham's 
bosom, darted in upon me, as who should say, * so shall it 
be with thee when thou dost leave this world ! ' This did 
sweetly revive my spirits, and help me to hope in God; 
which, when I had with comfort mused on a while, that 
Word fell with great weight upon my mind, ' Oh, Death> 
where is thy^ stingy? Oh, Grave, where is thy victory r' 
"Xt this' I became botrwell in body and mind at once ; for 
my sickness did presently vanish, and I walked comfortably 
in my work for God again." 

But tlie wickedness of the Tinke'r has been greatly over- 
charged ; and it is taking the language of self-accusation too 
literally to pronounce of John Bunyan that he was at any 
time depraved. The worst of what he was in his worst 
days is to be expressed in a single word, for which we have 
no synonym, the full meaning of which no circumlocution 
can convey, and which, though it may hardly be deemed 
presentable in serious composition, I shall use, as Bunyan 
himself (no mealy-mouthed writer) would have used it, had 
it in his days borne the same acceptation in which it is now 
universally understood. In that word, then, he had been a 
blackguard, 

" The head and front of his offending 
Hath this extent no more." 

Such he might have been expected to be by his birth, breed- 
ing, and vocation. Scarcely, indeed, by possibility could 
he have been otherwise ; but he was never a vicious man. 
It has been seen that at the first reproof he shook off, at 
once and forever, the practice of profane swearing, the 
worst if not the m^^— "*•** ** ^''^ he was ever addicted. 



^p iJFE OF JOHN BUNyAlir. 

He must have been still a very young man when that ouv 
ward reformation took place, which, little as he afterwards 
valued it, and insufficient as it may have been, gave evidence 
at least of right intentions, under the direction of a strong 
will ; and throughout his subsequent struggles of mind, the 
force of a diseased imagination is not more manifest than 
the earnestness of his religious feelings»and aspirations. 
His connection with the Baptists was eventually most bene- 
ficial to him. Had it not been for the encouragement whicK 
he received from them he might have lived and died % 
tinker ; for, even when he cast off, like a slough, the coarse 
habits of his early life, his latent powers could never, with, 
out some such encouragement and impulse, have brokek 
through the thick ignorance with which they were incrustea. 
The coarseness of that incrustation could hardly be coi*. 
ceived, if proofs of it were not preserved in his own hantv 
writing. There is no book except the Bible which he \% 
known to have perused so intently as the Acts and Monu- 
ments of John Fox, the martyrologist, one of the best ot 
nien, — a work more hastily than judiciously compiled, in its 
earlier parts, but invaluable for that greater and far more 
important portion which has obtained for it its popular 
name of " The Book of Martyrs." Bunyan's own copy of 
this work is in existence, and valued of course as such a 
relic of such a man ought to be. In each volume he ha8 
written his name beneath the titlepage in a large and stout 
print-hand, thus : — 



JM^iB 




And under some of the wood-cuts he has inserted a few 
rhymes, which are undoubtedly his own eom^sitJon ; and 
which, though much in the manner of the verses that were 
printed under the illustrations to his own " Pilgrim's Prog' 
Ifess " when that work was first adorned with cuts (verses 
worthy of such embellishments), are very much worse than 
even the worst of those^^lu*'*'*''- it. Vould not be Dossible 



LIFE OFJOUN BUNYAN, 31 

to find specimens of more miserable doggerel. Bat «s it 
has \iQQXi proper to lay before the reader the vivid represen- 
tation of Bunyan in his feverish state of enthusiasm, that 
the sobriety of mind mto which he settled may be better 
appreciated and the mora admired, so for a like reason is it 
fitting that it should be seen from how gross au4 deplorable 




ft state of ignorance ihat intellect which pro^nced the »Ptt. 
grim's Progress" worked its way. These, then, are th« 



verses 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

A specimen is here presented, as it appears in his own 
rude handwriting under the martyrdom of Thomas Ilaukes. 

Under the print of an Owl appearing to a Council held 
by Pope John at Kome. (Acts and Monuments, vol. L, 

781.) 

Doth the owle to them apper 
which put them all into a fear 
Will not the man & trubel crown 
cast the owle unto the ground. 

Under the martyrdom of John Hus. (Acts and Men., 
vol. i., 821.) 

heare is John hus that you may see 
uesed in deed with all crulity. 
But now leet us follow & look one him 
Wliear he is full field in deed to the brim. 

Under the martyrdom of John Rogers, the Protomartyr 
in the Marian Persecution. (lb., vol. iii., 133.) 

It was the will of X (Christ) that thou should die 
Mr Rogers his body in the flames to fry. 
O Blessed man thou did lead this bloody way, 
O how wilt thou shien with X in the last day 

Under the martyrdom of Lawrence Sanders. (lb. vol 
iii., 139.) 

Mr Sanders is the next blessed man in deed 
And from all trubels he is made free 
Farewell world & all here be lo 
For to my dear Lord I must gooe. 

There is yet one more of these Tinker's tetrastics, 
penned in the margin (vol. iii., p. 527), beside the account 
of Gardiner's death. 

.^ the blood the blood that he did shed 

is falling one his one head ; 
and dredfull it is for to see 
the beginnes of his misere. 

These curious inscriptions must have been Bunyan's first 
attempts in verse. He had no doubt found difficulty enougli 
in tinkering them to make him proud of his work when it 



I 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 33 

was done; for otherwise he would not have written them 
in a book which was the most vahiable of all his goods and 
chattels. In latter days he seems to have taken this book 
for his art of poetry, and acquired from it at length the 
tune and the phraseology of such verses as are there inserted, 
— with a few rare exceptions, they are of Robert Wisdom's 
school, and something below the pitch of Sternhold and 
Hopkins. But if he learned there to make bad verses, he 
entered fully into the spirit of its better parts, and received 
that spirit into as resolute a heart as ever beat in a martyr's 
bosom. From the examples which he found there, and from 
the Scriptures, which he perused with such intense devotion, 
he derived " a rapture," 

"That raising him from ignorance, 
Carried him up into the air of action 
And knowledge of himself." 

And when, the year after Gifford's death, a resolution was 
l^assed by the meeting that " some of the brethren (one at a 
time) to whom the Lord may have given a gift, be calle(J 
forth and encouraged to speak a word in the church for 
mutual edification," Bunyan was one of the persons so called 
upon. " Some," he says, " of the most able of the Saints 
with us, — I say, the most able for judgment and holiness of 
life, — as they conceived, did perceive that God had counted 
me worthy to understand something of His v/ill in His holy 
and blessed Word ; and had given me utterance in some 
measure to express what I saw to others for edification. 
Therefore they desired me, and that with much earnest- 
ness, that I would be willing at some times to take in hand 
in one of the meetings to speak a word of exhortation unto 
them. The which, though at the first it did much dash and 
abash my spirit, yet being still by them desired and en- 
treated, I consented to their request ; and did twice, at two 
several assemblies (but in private), though with much weak- 
ness and infirmity, discover my gift amongst them ; at which 
they not only seemed to be, but did solemnly protest, as in 
the sight of the great God, they were both affected and com* 



24 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

forted, and gave thanks to the Father of Mercies for the 
grace bestowed on me." 

In those days the supply of public news came so slowly, 
and was so scanty when it came, that even the proceedings 
of so humble an individual as Bunyan became matter of 
considerable attention in the town of Bedford. His exam- 
ple drev/ many to the Baptist Meeting, from curiosity to 
discover what had affected him there, and produced such a 
chancce in his conversation. " When I went out to seek the 
Bread of Life, some of them," he says, " would follow, and 
the rest be put into a muse at home. Yea, almost all the 
town, at first, at times would go out to hear at the place 
where I found good. Yea, young and old for a while had 
some reformation on them : also, some of them perceiving 
that God had mercy upon me, came crying to Him for mercy 
too." Bunyan was not one of those enthusiasts who thrust 
themselves forward, in confident reliance upon what they 
suppose to be an inward call. He entered upon his proba- 
tion with diffidence and fear, not daring " to make use of 
his gift in a public way ; " and gradually acquired a trust in 
himself, and a consciousness of his own qualifications, when 
some of those who went into the country to disseminate 
their principles and make converts, took him in their com- 
pany. Exercising himself thus as occasion offered, he was 
encouraged by the approbation with which others heard 
him : and in no long time, " after some solemn prayer, with 
fasting," he was " more particularly called forth, and ai> 
pointed to a more ordinary and public preaching, not only 
to and amongst them that believed, but also to offer the 
Gospel to those who had not yet received the faith thereof." 

The Bedford meeting had at this time its regular minis- 
ter, whose name was John Burton ; so that what Bunyan 
received was a roving commission to itinerate in the villages 
round about, and in this he was so much employed, that 
when in the ensuing year he was nominated for a deacon of 
the congregation, they declined electing him to that ofiice, 
on the ground that he was too much engaged to attend to 
:t. Having in previous training overcome his first difll- 



LIFE OFjOHN^ BUNYAIsr. 35 

dence, he now " felt in his mind a secret pricking forward " 
to this ministry ; not " for desire of vain glory," for he was 
even at that time ''sorely afflicted" concerning his own 
eternal state, but because the Scriptures encouraged him, by 
texts which ran continually in his mind, whereby " I was 
made," he says, " to see that the Holy Ghost never intended 
that men who have gifts and abilities should bury them in 
the earth, but rather did command and stir up such to the 
exercise of their gift, and also did command those that were 
apr, and ready, so to do." Those gifts he had, and could not 
but bo conscious of them. He had also the reputation of 
possessing them, so that people came by hundreds to hear 
him from all parts round about, though " upon divers ac- 
counts." — some to marvel, and some perhaps to mock ; but 
somo also to listen, and to be " touched with a conviction 
that they needed a Saviour." " But I first," he says, " could 
not believe that God should speak by me to the heart of any 
man, still counting myself unworthy ; yet those wno were 
thus touched would love me and have a particular respect 
for me : and thougii I did put it from me that they should 
be awakened by me, still they would confess it, and affirm 
it before the saints of God. They would also bless God for 
me (unworthy wretch that I am !), and count me God's in- 
strument that showed to them the way of salvation. Where- 
fore seeing them in both their words and deeds to be so 
constant, but also in their hearts so earnestly pressing after 
the knowledge of Jesus Christ, rejoicing that ever God did 
send me where they were ; then I began to conclude it 
might be so that God had owned in His work such a fool- 
ish one as I, and then came that word of God to my heart 
with much sweet refreshment, " the blessing of them that 
were ready to perish is come upon me ; yea, I caused the 
widow's heart to sing for joy." (Job xxix. 13.) 

When he first began to preach, Bunyan endeavored to 
work upon his hearers by alarming them. He dealt chiefly 
in comminations, and dwelt upon the dreadful doctrine that 
the curse of God " lays hold on ull men as they come into 
the world, because of i'»," ^Thia part of my work." lavp 



^6 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN 

he, " I fulfilled with great sense r for the terrors of the law, 
and guilt for my transgressions, lay heavy upon my con- 
science. I preached what I felt, — what I smartingly did 
feel, even that under which my poor soul did groan and 
tremble to astonishment. Indeed, I have been as one sent 
to them from the dead. I went myself in chains, to preach 
to them in chains ; and carried that fire in my own con- 
science, that I persuaded them to be aware of. I can truly 
say, that when I have been to preach, I have gone full of 
guilt and terror even to the pulpit-door ; and there it hath 
been taken off, and I have been at liberty in my mind until 
I have done my work ; and then immediately, even before 
I could get down the pulpit-stairs, I have been as bad as I 
was before. Yet God carried me on ; but surely with a 
strong hand, for neither guilt nor hell could take me off my 
work." This is a case like that of the fiery old soldier John 
Hairae, who was one of Wesley's first lay preachers. 

When he was in a happier state of mind, he took a dif« 
ferent and better course, "still preaching what he saw and 
felt." He then labored " to hold forth our Lord and Sav- 
iour" in all his ofiices, relations, and benefits, unto the 
world ; and " to remove those false supports and props on 
which the world doth lean, and by them fall and perish." 
Preaching, however, was not his only emploj^ment ; and 
though still working at his business for a maintenance, he 
found time to compose a treatise against some of those 
heresies which the first Quakers poured forth so profusely 
in their overflowing enthusiasm. In that age of theological 
warfare, no other sectaries acted so eagerly u]:)on the offen- 
sive. It seems that they came into some of the meetings 
which Bunyan attended, to bear testimony against the doc- 
trines which were taught there ; and this induced him to 
write his first work, entitled " Some Gospel Truths opened 
according to the Scriptures : or, the Divine and Human Na- 
ture in Christ Jesus ; His coming into the world ; His 
Righteousness, Death, Resurrection, Ascension, Interces- 
sion, and Second Coming to Judgment, plainly demon- 
strated and proved." Burton prefixed to this treatise a 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. yj 

commendatory epistle, bidding the reader not to be offended 
because the treasure of the Gospel Avas held forth to him in 
a poor earthen vessel by one who had neither the greatness 
nor the wisdom of this world to commend him. "Having 
had experience," he says, " with many other saints, of this 
man's soundness in the faith, of his godly conversation, 
and his ability to preach the Gospel, not by human art, 
but by the spirit of Christ, and that with much success m 
the conversion of sinners, — I say, having had experience 
of this, and judging this book may be profitable to many 
others, as well as to myself, I thought it my duty upon 
this account to bear witness with my brother to the plain 
and simple, and yet glorious, truths of our Lord Jesus 
Christ." 

It may be asked. How is it possible that the man who 
wrote such illiterate and senseless verses in the margin of 
his " Book of Martyrs," could have composed a treatise like 
this, about the same time, or shortly afterwards ? To this 
it may be replied that if the treatise were seen in its orig- 
inal spelling, it might have at first sight as tinkering an ap- 
pearance as the verses ; but in those days persons of much 
higher station spelt quite as loosely, — perhaps all who were 
not professionally scholars, — for it was before the age of 
spelling-books ; and it may be believed that in most cases 
the care of orthography was left to the printers. And it is 
not to be concluded from Bunyan's wretched verses that he 
would write as wretchedly in prose : in versifying he was 
attempting an art which he had never learnt, and for which 
he had no aptitude ; but in prose he wrote as he conversed 
and as he preached, using the plain straightforward language 
of common life. Burton may have corrected some vulgar- 
isms, but other correction would not be needed ; for fre- 
quent perusal of the Scriptures had made Bunyan fully 
competent to state what those doctrines were which the 
Quakers impugned. He was ready with the Scriptural 
proofs; and, in a vigorous mind like his, right reasoning 
naturally results from right premises. 

Although, as he says, it pleased him much " to contend 



^8 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

with great earnestness for the word of faith and the remi* 
sion of sins by the death and sufferings of our Saviour," he had 
no liking for controversy, and moreover saw that " his work 
before him ran in another channel." His great desire was 
to get into what he calls " the darkest places of the country," 
and awaken the religious feelings of that class of persons, 
who then, as now, in the midst of a Christian nation, were 
like the beasts that perish. While he was thus usefully 
employed, *' the Doctors and Priests of the country," he 
says, " began to open wide against him," and in the year 
1657 an indictment was preferred against him at the assizes 
for preaching at Eaton ; for though this was in the golden 
days of Oliver Cromwell, the same writer who tells us that 
" in those days there was ao persecution," observes that 
*' the Presbyterian ministers who were then in possession of 
the livings, could not bear with the preaching of an illiterate 
tinker and an unordained minister." But the Presbyteriam 
were not the only clergy who had intruded into the bene- 
fices of their loyal brethren, or retained those which were 
lawfully their own by conforming to the times and deserting 
the Church in whose service they were ordained. There 
was a full proportion of Independents among these incum* 
bents, and some Baptists also. And that there was much 
more persecution during the Protectorate than Cromwell 
would have allowed, if he could have prevented it, may be 
seen by the history of the Quakers, — to say nothing of the 
Papists, against whom the penal laws remained in full force, 
— nor of the Church of England. The simple truth is, all 
parties were agreed in the one Catholic opinion that certain 
doctrines are not to be tolerated. They differed as to what 
those doctrines were ; and they differed also as to the degree 
in which they held the principle of intolerance, and the ex- 
tent to which they practiced it. The Papists, true to their 
creed, proclaimed it without reserve or limit, and burnt all 
heretics wherever they had power to do so. The Protestants, 
therefore, tolerated no Papists where they were strong 
enough to maintain the ascendancy which they had won. 
The Church of England would have silenced all sectaries 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, 3^ 

It tailed in the attempt, being betrayed by many of its own 
members ; and then the Sectaries overthrew the Church, 
put the Primate to death, ejected all the Clergy who ad- 
hered to their principles, imprisoned some, deported others, 
and prohibited even the private and domestic use of the 
Liturgy. The very Baptists of Bunyan's congregation, and 
at a time too when Bunyan was their pastor, interdicted a 
"dearly beloved sister " from communicating with a church 
of which her son-in-law was minister, because he was not a 
Baptist ; and they excluded a brother " because in a great 
assembly of the church of England he was profanely bishopty 
after the antichristian order of that generation, to the great 
profanation of God's order, and heart-breaking of his Chris- 
tian brethren." The Independents flogged and hanged the 
Quakers : and the Quakers prophesied in the gall of bitter- 
ness against all other communities, and condemned them to 
the bottomless pit, in hearty belief and jubilant expectation 
that the sentence would be carried into full effect by the 
Devil and his Angels. 

It is not known in what manner the attempt at silencing 
Bunyan was defeated. He tells us that the ignorant and 
malicious were then stirred up to load him with slanders ; 
and that whatever the Devil could devise, and his instru- 
ments invent, was " whirled up and down the country " 
against him, thinking that by that means they should make 
his ministry to be abandoned. It was rumored that he was 
a Witch, a Jesuit, a Highwayman : and now it was that the 
aspersions cast upon his moral character called forth that 
characteristic vindication of himself which has already been 
noticed. Equally haracteristic is the appeal which he made 
in his own manners and deportment. " And in this," says 
he, " I admire the wisdom of God, that he made me shy of 
women from my first conversion until now. These know, 
and can also bear me witness, with -whom I have been most 
intimately concerned, that it is a rare thing to see me carry 
it pleasant towards a woman. The common salutation of 
women I abhor ; 'tis odious to me in whomsoever I see it. 
Their company alone I can not away with ! I seldom so 



^O ^//^iS" OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

much as touch a woman's hand ; for I think these things are 
not so becoming me. When I have seen good men salute 
those women that they have visited, or that have visited 
them, I have at times made my objection against it ; and 
when they have answered that it was but a piece of civility, 
I have told them, it is not a comely sight. Some, indeed, 
have urged the holy kiss ; but then I have asked why they 
made baulks ? — why they did salute the most handsome, and 
let the ill-favored go ? Thus how laudable soever such things 
have been in the eyes of others, they have been unseemly in 
my sight." Dr. Doddridge could not have thus defended 
himself. But though this passage might have been written 
by a saint of the monastic calendar. Banyan was no woman- 
hater. He had at this time married a second wife ; and that' 
he " carried it pleasant" towards her appears by her behavior 
towards him in his troubles. 

Those troubles came on a few months only after the Res- 
toration, Bunyan being one of the first persons after that 
event who was punished for nonconformity. The nation 
was m a most unquiet state. There was a restless, rancor* 
ous, implacable party, who would have renewed the civil 
war. tor the sake of again trying the experiment of a Com- 
monwealth, which had so completely and miserably failed 
when the power was in their hands. They looked to Lud- 
low as their General ; and Algernon Sydney took the first 
opportunity of soliciting for them men from Holland and 
money from France. The political enthusiasts who were 
engaged in such schemes counted upon the sectaries for sui> 
porti. Even among the sober sects there were men who, at 
the cost of a rebellion, would gladly have again thrown down 
the Church Establishment, for the hope of setting up their 
own system during the anarchy that must ensue. Among 
the wilder, some were eager to proclaim King Jesus, and 
take T>ossession of the earth, as being the Saints to whom it 
was tJi'omised : and some (a few years later), less in hope of 
effecting their republican projects than in despair and ven- 
geance, conspired to burn London. They were discovered, 
tried, convicted, and executed. They confessed their inten- 



UFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 41 

tion ; they named the day which had been appointed for car • 
rymg it into effect, because an astrological scheme had shown 
it to V)e a lucky one for this design ; and on that very day 
the fire of London broke out. In such times the Govern- 
ment was rendered suspicious by the constant sense of dan- 
ger, and was led as much by fear as by resentment to sever- 
ities which are explained by the necessity of self-defence, — 
not justified by it, when they fall upon the innocent, or even 
upon the less guilty. 

A warrant was issued against Bunyan, as if he had been 
a dangerous person, because he went about preaching. This 
office was deemed (and well it might be) incompatible 
with liis calling. lie was known to be hostile to the re- 
stored Church ; and probably it might be remembered that 
he had served in the Parliament's army. Accordingly, he 
was arrested at a place call Samsell, in Bedfordshire, at a 
meeting in a private house. He was aware of this intention, 
but neitlier chose to put off the meeting, nor to escape, lest 
such conduct on his part should make " an ill savor in the 
country," and because he was resolved " to see the utmost 
of what they could say or do to him." So he was taken 
before the Justice, Wingate by name, who had issued the 
warrant. Wingate asked him why he did not content him- 
self with following his calling, instead of breaking the law ; 
and Bunyan replied that he could both follow his calling and 
preach the Word too. He was then required to find sure- 
ties. They were ready ; and, being called in, were told 
they were bound to keep him from preaching, otherwise 
their bonds would be forfeited. Upon this Bunyan declared 
that he would not desist from speaking the word of God. 
While his mittimus was making, in consequence of this de- 
termination, one whom he calls an old enemy of the truth, 
entered into discourse with him, and said he had read of 
one Alexander the coppersmith who troubled the apostles, 
— " aiming 'tis like at me," says Bunyan, " because I was a 
tinker ; to which I answered that I also had read of Priests 
and Pharisees that had their hands in the blood of our Lord." 
Aye, was the rejoinder, and you are one of those Pharisees, 



-2 LIFE OF rOHN BUNYAAT. 

for you make long prayers to devour widows' houses. " I 
ansAvered," says Bunyan, " that if he had got no more by 
preaching and praying than I had done, he would not be so 
rich as now he was." This ended in his committal to Bed- 
ford jail, there to remain till the quarter sessions. He was 
offered his liberty if he would promise not to call the people 
together, but no such promise would he make ; and when he 
was told that none but poor, simple, ignorant j^eople came 
to hear him, he replied that such had most need of teaching, 
and therefore it was his duty to go on in that work. It a])- 
pears, however, that after a few days he listened to his 
friends, and would have given bond for his appearance at 
the sessions ; but the magistrate to whom they applied was 
afraid to take it. " Whereat," says Bunyan, *' I was not at 
all daunted, but rather glad, and saw evidently that the 
Lord had heard me. For before I went down to the justice, 
I begged of God that if I might do more good by being at 
liberty than in prison, that then I might be set at liberty 
but if not — His will be done ; for I was not altogether with- 
out hope but that my imprisonment might be an awakening 
to the saints in the country. Therefore, I could not tell 
which to choose ; only I in that manner did commit the 
thing to God. And verily, at my return I did meet my 
God sweetly in the prison again, comforting of me, and satis- 
fying: of me that it was His will and mind that I should be 
there." 

Some seven weeks after this the Sessions were held, and 
John Bunyan was indicted as a person who " devilishly and 
perniciously abstained from coming to Church to hear divine 
service, and who was a common upholder of several unlaw- 
ful meetings and conventicles, to the great disturbance and 
distraction of the good subjects of this kingdom." He an- 
swered that as to the first part of this, he was a common 
frequenter of the Church of God : but being demanded 
>vhether he attended the parish Church, he replied that he 
did not, and for this reason, that he was not commanded so 
to do in the word of God. We were commanded there to 
pray, but with the spirit^ not by the common prayer-book, 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, 43 

the prayers in that book being made by other men, and not 
by the motion of the Holy Spirit within our own hearts. 
And as to the Lord's Prayer, said he, " there are very few 
that can, in the spirit, say the two first words of that prayer ; 
that is, that can call God their father, as knowing what it is 
to be born again, and as having experince that tl>ey are be- 
•gotten of the Spirit of God ; which, if they do not, all is but 
babbling." Having persuaded himself by weak arguments, 
Bunyan used them as if they had been strong ones. " Show 
me," he said, " the place in the Epistles where the Common 
Prayer-Book is written, or one text of Scripture that com- 
mands me to read it, and I will use it. But yet, notwith- 
standing, they that have a mind to use it, they have their 
liberty ; that is, I would not keep them from it. But for 
our parts, we can pray to God without it. Blessed be His 
name ! " But the Sectaries had kept their countrymen from 
it, while they had the power ; and Bunyan himself in his 
sphere labored to dissuade them from it. 

Men who are called in question for their opinions, may 
be expected to under or over estimate them at such timee^ 
according as caution or temerity may predominate in their 
dispositions. In none of Bunyan's writings does he appear 
so little reasonable, or so little tolerant, as upon these ex- 
aminations. H was a brave man, — a bold one, — and be- 
lieved himself to be an injured one, — standing up against 
persecution ; for he knew that by his preaching, evident 
and certain good was done ; but that there was any evil in 
his w^ay of doing it, or likely to arise from it, was a thought 
which, if it had arisen in his own mind, he would immedi- 
ately have ascribed to the suggestion of Satan. Some fur- 
ther disputation ensued. " We were told," he said, " to 
exhort one another daily, while it is called to-day : " but 
the Justice replied he ought not to preach. In rejoinder, 
he offered to prove that it was lawful for him and such as 
him to preach, and quoted the Apostle's words, " as every 
man hath received that gift, even so let him minister the 
same unto another." "• \:^ me a little open that Scripture 
to you," said the magistrate : " As every man hath received 



44 ' LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

his gift ; that is, as every man hath received a trade, so let 
hira follow it. If any man have received a gift of tinken 
jng, as thou hast done, let him follow his tinkering. And 
so other men their trades, and the divine his calling." But 
John insisted that spiritual gifts were intended in this pas- 
sage. The magistrate said men might exhort if they pleased 
in their families, but not otherwise. John answered, " if it 
were lawful to do good to some, it was lawful to do good to 
more. If it were a good thing to exhort our families, it was 
good to exhort others. And if it were held a sin for them 
to meet together and seek the face of God, and exhort one an^ 
other to follow Christ, he would sin still." They were now at 
a point. " You confess the indictment, then ? " said the mag- 
istrate. He made answer : " This I confess : We have had 
many meetings together, both to pray to God, and to exhort 
one another ; and we had the sweet comforting presence of 
the Lord among us for our encouragement. Blessed be His 
name ! There I confess myself guilty, and no otherwise." 
Then said the magistrate : " Hear your judgment. You 
must be had back again to prison, and there lie for three 
months following ; and at three months' end, if you do not 
submit to go to Church to hear divine service, and leave 
your preaching, you must be banished the realm. And if 
after such a day as shall be appointed you to be gone, you 
shall be found in this realm, or be found to come over again 
without special license from the king, you must stretch by 
the neck for it. I tell you plainly." Bunyan resolutely 
answered that *' if he were out of prison to-day, he would 
preach the Gospel again to-morrow, by the help of God ! " 
Back, therefore, he was taken ; " and I can truly say," 
he says, " I bless the Lord for it ; that my heart was sweetly 
refreshed in the time of my examination, and also after- 
wards at my returning to the prison, so that I found Christ's 
words more than bare trifles, where He saith, " He will give 
you a mouth and wisdom which all your adversaries shall 
not be able to gainsay nor resist." (Luke xxi. 15.) Three 
months elapsed, and the Clerk of the Peace then went to 
him, by desire of the magistrate, to see if he could be pei> 



LIFE OF JOfTlSr BUNYAN , 45 

suaded to obedience. But Bunyan insisted that the Law- 
being intended against those who designed to do evil in 
their meetings, did not apply to him. He was told that he 
might exhort his neighbors in private discourse, if he did 
not call together an assembly of people. This he might do, 
and do much good thereby, without breaking the law. 
*' But," said Bunyan, " if I may do good to one, why not to 
two ? — and if to two, why not to four ? — and so to eight, 
and so on?" "Aye," said the Clerk, "and to a hundred, 
I warrant you ! " " Yes," Bunyan answered, " I think I 
should not be forbidden to do as much good as I can." 
They then began to discuss the question whether under pre- 
tence of doing good, harm might not be done, by seducing 
the people ; and Bunyan allowed that there might be many 
who designed the destruction of the Government. Let 
them, he said, be punished ; and let him be punished, also, 
should he do any thing not becoming a man and a Chris- 
tian. If prror or heresy could be proved upon him, he 
would disown it, even in the market-place ; but to the truth 
he would stand to the last drop of his blood. Bound in 
conscience he held himself to obey all righteous laws, 
whether there were a king or not ; and if he offended 
against them, patiently to bear the penalty. And to cut off 
all occasion of suspicion as touching the harmlessness of his 
doctrines, he would willingly give any one the notes oi alL 
his sermons, for he sincerely desired to live in peace, and 
to submit to the present authority. " But there are two 
ways of obeying," he observed ; " the one to do that which 
I in my conscience do believe that I am bound to do, ac- 
tively ; and where I can not obey actively, there I am wil- 
ling to lie down, and to suffer what they shall do unto me." 
And here the interview ended, Bunyan thanking him for 
his " civil and meek discoursing," and breathing a wish that 
they might meet in Heaven. 

Shortly afterwards the Coronation took place, and the 
proclamation which allowed persons to sue out a pardon 
during twelve months from that day, had the effect of 
suspending the proceedings against him, if any further 



^6 LIFE OF JOHN BUN YAM. 

were intended. When the assizes came, his wife presented 
a petition to the Judges that they would impartially take 
his case into consideration. Sir Matthew Hale was one of 
these Judges, and expressed a wish to serve her if he could, 
but a fear that he could do her no good ; and being assured 
by one of the Justices that Bunyan had been convicted, and 
was a hot-spirited fellow, he Avaived the matter. But the 
High Sheriff encouraged the poor woman to make another 
effort for her husband before they left the town ; and ac- 
cordingly, " with a bashed face and a trembling lieart," she 
entered the Swan Chamber, where the two Judges and 
many magistrates and gentry of the country were in com- 
pany together. Trembling, however, as she was, Elizabeth 
Bunyan had imbibed something of her husband's spirit. 
She had been to London to petition the House of Lords in 
his behalf, and had been told by one whom she calls Lord 
Barkwood, that they could do nothing, but that his release- 
ment was committed to the Judges at these next assizes ; 
and now I am come to you, she said, and you give neither 
releasement nor relief. And she complained to Hale that 
he was kept unlawfully in prison, for the indictment wa? 
false, and he was clapped up before there were any proc- 
lamations against the meetings. One of the Judges then 
said he had been lawfully convicted. " It is false," replied 
the woman; "for when they said to him, 'Do you confess 
the mdictment?' he said only this, that he had been at sev- 
eral meetnigs, both when there was preaching the Word 
and prayer, and that they had God's presence among them." 
"Will your husband leave preaching?" said Judge Twis- 
den. *^If he will do so, send for him." " My Lord," said 
she_> " he dares not leave preaching, as long as he can 
speak." 

Sir Matthew himself was not likely to be favorably im- 
pressed by this sort of pleading. But he listened sadly when 
she told him that there were four small children by the for- 
mer wife, one of them blind ; that tHey nad nothing lo live 
upon vhile their father was in prison, but the charity oi 
good people ; and that she herself " smayed " at the new» 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAiV. 47 

when her husband was apprehended, being but young and 
unaccustomed to such things, fell in labor, and continuing 
in it for eight days, was delivered of a dead child. " Alas, 
poor woman ! " said Hale. But Twisden said poverty was her 
cloak, for he understood her husband was better niamtanied 
by running up and down a-preaching, than by follownig 
his callmg. Sir Matthew asked what was his calling, and 
was told he was a tinker. " Yes," observed the wife, " and 
because he is a tinker and a poor man, therefore he is de- 
spised and cannot have justice." The scene ended in Sir 
Matthew mildly telling her he was sorry he could do her no 
good ; that what her husband had said was taken for a convic- 
tion ; and that there was no other course for her than either 
to apply to the king, or sue out his pardon, or get a writ of 
error, which would be the cheapest. She urged them to 
send for Bunyan, that he might speak for himself. His ap- 
pearance, however, would rather have confirmed those in 
their opinions who said there was not such another pestilent 
fellow in the country, than have moved the Judges in his 
favor. Elizabeth Bunyan concludes her account by saying : 
" this I remember, that though I was somewhat timoi-ous at 
my first entrance into the chamber, yet before I went out I 
could not but break forth into tears ; not so much because 
they were so hard-hearted against me and my husband, but 
to think what a sad account such poor creatures will havb 
to give at the coming of the Lord ! " 

No further steps for procuring his release were taken at 
this time, either because the means for defraying the legal 
expenses could not be raised, or, which is quite as probable, 
because it was certain that Bunyan, thinking himself in 
conscience bound to preach in defiance of the law, wouM 
soon have made his case worse than it then was. For h«» 
had fortunately a friend in the jailer, and was somewhat 
like a prisoner at large, being allowed to go whither he 
would, and return when he thought proper. He attended 
the meetings of the congregation to which he belonged ; he 
was employed by them to visit disorderly members ; he was 
often out in the night ; and it is said that many of the Ban- 



^8 LIFE OF JOHN BUNY AN. 

tist congregations in Bedfordshire owe their origin to Ms 
midnight preaching. " I followed my wonted course,'' he 
says, " taking all occasions to visit the people of God, ex- 
horting them to be steadfast in the faith of Jesus Christ, 
and to take heed that they touch not the Common Prayer, 
&c." — an " &c." more full of meaning than that which oc- 
casioned the dishonest outcry against the " &c." oath. So 
far did this liberty extend that he went '' to see the Chris- 
tians at London," — an indiscretion which cost the jailer a 
severe reproof, and had nearly cost him his place ; and 
which compelled him to withliold any furtlier indulgence of 
this kind ; " so," says Bunyan, " that I must not now look 
out of the door." " They charged me," he adds, " that I 
went tliitlier to plot and raise divisions and make insurrec- 
tions, which, God knows, was a slander." 

It was slanderous to charge him with plotting, or with 
traitorous intentions ; but in raising divisions he was, be- 
yond all doubt, actively and heartily engaged. The man 
who distinguished a handful of Baptists in London as the 
Christians of that great metropolis, and who, when let out 
by favor from his prison, exhorted the people of God, as he 
calls them, to take hoed that they touched not the Common 
Prayer, was not employed in promoting unity, nor in mak- 
ing good subjects, however good his intentions, however 
orthodox his creed, however sincere and fervent his piety. 
Peace might be on his lips, and zeal for the salvation of 
others in his heart ; but he was certainly at that time no 
preacher of good will, nor of Christian charity. And with- 
out reference to human laws, it may be affirmed that the 
circumstances which removed this high-minded and hot- 
minded man from a course of dangerous activity, in which 
he was as little likely to acquire a tolerant spirit as to im- 
part it, and placed him in confinement, where his under- 
standing had leisure to ripen and to cool, Avas no less favor- 
able for his moral and religious nature than it has ultimately 
proved to his usefulness and his fame. 

Nothing is more certain than that the gratification which 
a resolute spirit feels in satisfying its conscience exceeds all 



LIFE OF JOHN BLWYAAT 4^ 

Others. This feeling is altogether distinct from that peace 
of mind which under all afflictions abides in the regenerate 
heart ; nor is it so safe a feeling, for it depends too much 
upon excitement, and the exultation and triumph which it 
produces are akin to pride. Bunyan's heart had been kin- 
dled by the Book of Martyrs. Cold and insensible, indeed, 
must any heart be which could dwell without emotion upon 
those precious records of religious heroism! He had read 
in those records, with perfect sympathy, the passionate 
epistle which the Italian Martyr, Pomponius Algerius, ad- 
dressed from prison to his friends. That martyr was a stu- 
dent of Padua ; and in what, in one sense, may be called 
the golden age of literature, had been devoted to study from 
his childhood with ambitious diligence and the most liope- 
ful success. 

Bunyan had thoroughly conformed his own frame of 
mind to that which lie admired ; but there were times when 
his spirit failed, and there is not a more characteristic ])as- 
sage in liis works than that in which he describes his appre- 
hensions, and inward conflict, and final determination. " I 
will tell you a pretty business," he says. " I was in a very 
sad and low condition for many weeks ; at which time, also, 
being but a young })risoner and not acquainted with the 
laws, I had this lying much upon my spirits, that my im* 
prisonment miglit end at the gallows, for aught that I could 
tell. Now, therefore, Satan laid hard at me, to beat me out 
of heart, by suggesting this unto me : ' but how, if when 
you come indeed to die, you should be in this condition ; 
that is, as not to savor the things of God, nor to have any 
evidence upon your soul for a better state hereafter ? ' (for, 
indeed, at that time all the things of God were hid from my 
soul.) Wherefore, when I at first began to think of this, it 
was a great trouble to me ; for I thought with myself, that 
in the condition I now was, I was not fit to die ; neither, 
indeed, did I think I could, if I should be called to it. Be- 
sides, I thought with myself, if I should make a scrambling 
shift to clamber up the ladder, yet I should, either with 
squaking, or other symptoms of fainting, give occasion to 



so 



ZIMB OF JOHN BUNT AN. 



the enemy to reproach the way of God, and his people foi 
their timorousness. This, therefore, lay with great trouble 
upon me ; for methought I was ashamed to die with a pale 
face and tottering knees, in such a case as this. Wherefore 
I prayed to God that He would comfort me, and give me 
strength to do and suffer what He should call me to ; yet 
no comfort appeared, but all continued hid. I was also at 
this time so really possessed with the thought of death, that 
oft I was as if I was on the ladder with a rope about my 
neck. Only this was some encouragement to me : I thought 
I might now have an opportunity to speak my last words 
unto a multitude, which I thought would come see me 
die ; and, thought I, if it must be so, if God will but con- 
vert one soul by my words, I shall not count my life thrown 
away, nor lost. 

** But yet all the things of God were kept out of my 
sight ; and still the Tempter followed me with, * but whither 
must you go when you die ? What will become of you ? 
Where will you be found in another world ? What evi- 
dence have you for Heaven and glory, and an inheritance 
among them that are sanctified ? ' Thus was I tossed for 
many weeks, and knew not what to do. At last this con- 
sideration fell with weight upon me, that it was for the 
word and way of God that I was in this condition, where- 
fore I was engaged not to flinch a hair's breadth from it. 
I thought also that God might choose whether He would 
give me comfort now, or at the hour of death ; but I might 
not therefore choose whether I would hold my profession 
or not. I was bound, but he was free. Yea, it was my duty 
to stand to His Word, whether He would ever look upon 
me or save me at the last ; wherefore, thought I, the point 
being thus, I am for going on, and venturing my eternal 
state with Christ, whether I have comfort here or no. If 
God doth not come in, thought I, I will leap off the ladder 
even blindfold into eternity; sink or swim,— come 
Heaven, come hell ; — Lord Jesus, if thou wilt catch me, 
do : — if not, I will venture for thy name ! '* 

John Bunyan did not ask himself how far the case 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, ^1 

Of those martyrs, whose example he was prepared to fol- 
Ion', resembled the situation in which he was placed. 
Such a question, had he been cool enough to entertain it, 
might have shown him that they had no other alternative 
than idolatry or the stake : but that lie was neither called 
upon to renounce anything that he did believe, nor to pro- 
fess anything that he did not ; that the congregation to 
which he belonged held at that time their meetings unmo 
lested ; that he might have worsliipped when he pleased 
where he pleased, and how he pleased ; that he was only re- 
quired not to go about the country holding conventicles ; 
and that the cause of that interdiction was — not that persons 
were admonished in such conventicles to labor for salva* 
tion, but that they were exhorted there to regard with ab- 
horrence that Protestant Church which is essentially part 
of the constitution of England, from the doctrines of which 
church, except in the point of infant baptism, he did not 
differ a hair's breadth. This I am bound to observe, be- 
cause Bunyan has been, and no doubt will continue to be, 
most wrongfully represented as having been the victim of 
intolerant laws, and prelatical opj)ression. 

But greater strength of will and strength of heart could 
not have been manifested, if a plain duty wherewith there 
may be no compromise had called for that sacrifice which 
he w^as ready to have made. It would be wronging him 
here were the touching expression of his feelings under 
these circumstances to be withheld. "I found myself," he 
says, " a man encompassed with infirmities. The parting 
with my wife and poor children, hath often been to me, in 
this place, as the pulling the flesh from the bones ; and that 
not only because I am somewhat too fond of these great 
mercies, but also because I should have often brought to my 
mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants, that my 
poor family was like to meet with, should I be taken from 
them ; especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my 
heart than all besides. Oh, the thoughts of the hardships I 
thought my poor blind one might go under would break my 
heart to pieces I Poor child ! thougfht I, what sorrow art 



52 I^JF^ OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

thou like so have for thy portion in this world \ Thou mus* 
be beaten ; must beg ; suffer hunger, cold, nakedness, ^nd a 
thousand calamities, though I can not now endure the wmd 
should blow upon thee ! But yet, recalling myself, thought 
I, I must venture you all with God, though it goeth to the 
quick to leave you ! Oh, I saw in this condition I was as a 
man who was pulling down his house upon the heads of his 
wife and children : yet, thought I, I must do it, I must do 
it ! And now I thought on those two milch-kine that weie 
to carry the Ark of God into another country, and to leave 
their calves behind them." (1 Sam. vio 10.) 

These fears passed away when he found that no further 
proceedings were intended against him. But his worldly 
occupation was gone, for there was an end of tinkering as 
well as of his ministerial itinerancy. " He was as effectuallj 
called away from his pots and kettles," says Mr. Ivimey, id 
his " History of the Baptists," " as the Apostles were from 
mending their nets." He learned, therefore, to make tagged 
thread-laces, and by this means supported his family. They 
lost the comfort of his presence ; but in other respects tlieii 
condition was not worsened by his imprisonment, whicli in- 
deed was likely to render them objects of kindness as wei' 
as of compassion to their neighbors. In an age when tiie 
state of English prisons was disgraceful to a Christian peo • 
pie, and the treatment of prisoners not unfrequently most 
inhuman, Bunyan was fortunate in the place of his confine- 
ment and in the disposition of his jailer, who is said to ahve 
committed the management of the prison to his care, know 
ing how entirely he might be trusted. He had the society 
there of some who were suffering for the same cause ; he 
had his Bible and his Book of Martyrs ; and he had leisure 
to brood over his own thoughts. The fever of his enthu- 
siasm had spent itself ; the asperity of his opinions wag 
softened as his mind enlarged ; and the " Pilgrim's Prog 
ress " was one of the fruits of his imprisonment. But ba 
fore that work is spoken of more particularly, it will \>t^ 
convenient to pursue the story of his life to its close. 

He remained a prisoner twelve years. But it appears 



LIFE OFJcHir BUNYAN-. 53 

that during the last four of those yc-iv. he regularly attended 
the Baptist Meeting, his name beiii«7: always in the records, 
and in the eleventh year the congregation chose him for 
their pastor ; " he at the same time accepted the invitation, 
and gave himself up to serve Christ and His Church in that 
charge, and received of the Elders the right hand of fellow, 
shipc" The more recent historian of the Baptist says, " how 
he could exercise his pastoral office in preaching among them, 
while he continued a prisoner in the jail, we are at a loss to 
conceive." Unquestionably only by being a prisoner at large, 
and having +he liberty of the town while he was lodged 111 
the prison. There is % print in which he is represented as 
pursued by a rabble to his own door ; but there is no allu- 
sion to any such outrage in any part of his works. In his 
own neighborhood, where he had always lived, it is most 
unlikely to have happened ; and if Bunyan had any enemies 
latterly, they were among the bigots of his own persuasion. 
His character had by this time obtained res])ect, his books 
had attracted notice, and Dr. Barlow, then Bishop of Lincoln, 
and other Churchmen, are said to have pitied " his hard and 
unreasonable sufferings, so far as to stand very much his 
friends in procuring his enlargement." How this was effected 
is not known. 

This is the statement given in the continuation of his 
life, appended to his own account of himself, and supposed 
to have been written by Charles Doe, a Baptist minister, 
who was intimately acquainted with him. Mr. Ivimey, how- 
ever, to invalidate this, produces a passage from the preface 
to one of Owen's sermons. This passage says, that " Bunyan 
was confined upon an excommunication for non-conform- 
ity ; that there was a law that if any two persons would go 
to the Bishop of the diocese, and offer a cautionary bond 
that the prisoner should conform in half a year, the Bishop 
might release him upon that bond ; that Barlow was applied 
to do this, by Owen, whose tutor he had been ; that 
Barlow refused, unless the Lord Chancellor would issue out 
an order to him to take the cautionary bond, and release the 
prisoner: t^--^ -^^-^ *^'>norh very chargeable, was done, ^nd 



£4 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN: 

that Bunyan was then set at liberty, " but little i^-jinks to 
the Bishop." " From this account," says Mr. ^vimcy, " it 
should seem the honor given to Dr. Barlow ha^ been ill be- 
stowed." Uj^on this statement it will be sufficient to observe 
zhat Bunyan was not imprisoned upon a sentence of excom- 
munication ; and that he would not have been imprisoned 
at all, if he would have allowed his frienJs to enter into a 
bond for him, far less objectionable 051 his part than the 
fraudulent one upon which it is here pretended he was re- 
leased at last. 

From this time his life appeart to have passed smoothly. 
His congregation and his other friends bought ground and 
built a Meeting-I louse for him. and there he continued to 
preach before large audiences Every year he used to visit 
London, where his reputatiou was so great that if a day's 
notice were given, the Meeting-IIouse in Southwark, at 
which he generally preached, would not hold half the people 
that attended. Three thousand persons have been gathered 
together there ; and not less than twelve hundred on week 
days, and dark winter mornings at seven o'clock. He used 
also to preach in thd surrounding counties. Tlie Baj)tist 
congregation at Hitchen is supposed to have been founded 
by him. Their meetings were held at first about three miles 
from that town, in a wood near the village of Preston, 
Bunyan standing in a pit, or hollow, and the people round 
about on the sloping sides. " A chimney-corner at a house 
in the same wood is still looked upon with veneration, as 
having been the place of his refreshment." About five miles 
from Hitchen was a famous Puritan preaching-place called 
Bendish. It had been a malt-house, was very low, and 
thatched, and ran in two directions, a large square pulpit 
standing in iht angles ; and adjoining the pulpit was a high 
pew, in which ministers sat out of sight of informers, and 
trom which, in case of alarm, they could escape into an ad- 
jacent lane. The building being much decayed, this meet- 
ing was removed in 1787 to a place called Coleman Green; 
and the pulpit, which was there held to be the only remain^ 
ing one in which Bunyan had preached, was with a commend- 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 55 

Lbie feeling carefully removed thither. But another " true 
pulpit" is shown in London, in the Jewin Street Meeting, 
it is said that Owen greatly admired lus preaching ; and that 
being asked by Charlos II. '* how a learned man, such as he 
was, could sit and listen to an illiterate tinker," he replied, 
" May it please your majesty, could I possess that tinker's 
abilities for preaching, I would most gladly relinquish all my 
learning." 

This opinion would be discreditable to Owen's judgment, 
if he really entertained it, and the anecdote were entitled to 
belief. For great part of Bunyan's tracts are supposed to 
contain the substance of his sermons, which it is said he 
commonly committed to writing, after he had preached 
them ; and certainly if he had left no other proofs of his 
genius, these would not have perpetuated his name. But 
the best sermons are not always those which produce most 
effect in delivery. A reader may be lulled to sleep by the 
dead letter of a printed discourse, who would have roused 
and thrilled if the same discourse had come to lum in a 
stream of living oratory, enforced by the tones, and eye, and 
countenance, and gestures of the preacher. One who is as 
much in earnest as he was, even if his matter should be 
worse, and his manner feebler, will seldom fail to move 
hearers, when they see that he is moved himself. But 
Bunyan may be supposed to have been always vehement and 
vigorous in delivery, as he frequently is in his language. One 
day when he had preached " with peculiar warmth and en- 
largement," some of his friends came to shake hands with 
him after the service, and observed to him what " a sweet 
sermon " he had delivered. " Aye," he replied, " you need 
not remind me of that; for the Devil told me of it before 1 
was out of the pulpit." This anecdote authenticates itself. 

He became a voluminous writer, and published about 
three score tracts or books. They have been collected into 
two folio volumes., but indiscriminately arranged, and witn. 
out any notice of their respective dates. This is a great 
fault ; for. by a proper arrangement, or such notices, the 
progress of his mind mijxht more satisfactorily be traced. 



g6 LIFE OFJOTfJSr SUNYAN. 

Some passages occur in them which may make us shuddei- 
These are very few, and in what may probably be deemecj 
his earlier works, because such passages are found in them. 
A very few, also, there are in which the smut of his old occu-. 
pation has been left upon the paper. The strongest preju 
dice which he retained — and precisely for this reason, that \\ 
was the most unreasonable — was his dislike of the Liturgy, 
the Book of Common Prayer being, like *' the common sahi 
tation of women," what he "could not away with." But tliG 
general tenor of his writings is mild, and tolerant, and chari- 
table; and if Calvinism had never Avorn a blacker appear- 
ance than m Bunyan's works, it could never have become a 
term of reproach ; nor have driven so many pious minds, in 
horror of it, to an opposite extreme. 

Bunyan looked for a Millennium, though he did net par- 
take the madness of the Fifth-Monarchy men, nor dream of 
living to see it. He agreed with the Particular or stricter 
Baptists that Church communion was to be held with those 
only who are " visible Saints by calling ; " that is, with those 
who make a profession of faith and repentance and holiness, 
and who are now called Professors in their own circles, but 
in those days took to themselves complacently the appel- 
lation of Saints. He dared not hold communion with others, 
he said, because the Scriptures so often command that all 
the congregation should be holy ; and because so to do, 
would be ploughing with an ox and an ass together ; and 
because God has threatened to plague the "mingled people " 
with dreadful punishments. " It is all one," he says, " to 
communicate with the profane, and to sacrifice to the Devil." 
But he held that difference of opinion concerning baptism 
should be no bar to communion ; and for this he was 
attacked by Kiflin and Jessey, two of the most eminent 
among the Baptists. The more particular Particulars had 
Jong been displeased witli his tolerance upon this point, and 
had drawn away some of his congregation ; and Bunyan 
complained of this " Church-rending " spirit. " Yourself," 
be says to Kiffin, " could you but get the opportunity, under 
pretence ~ "^ "^^'^ '"no<>.Piit ordinance, as you term it, of water- 



LIFE OFJO/LV BUNYAN ^^ 

baptism, would not stick to make inroads, and outroads, 
too, in all the churches that suit not your fancy in the land I 
For you have already been bold to affirm that all those that 
have baptized infants ought to be ashamed and repent, be- 
fore they be showed the pattern of the House : and what is 
this but to threaten that, could you have your will of them, 
you would quickly take from them their present cliurch 
privileGjes ? " He complains of " brethren of the baptized 
way who would not pray with men as good as themselves:, 
because they were not baptized (that is, re-baptized), but 
would either, like Quakers, stand with their hats on their 
heads, or else withdraw till they had done." 

One of his opponents had said upon this subject, that 
"if it be preposterous and wicked for a man and a woman to 
cohabit together, and to enjoy the privileges of a married 
estate " without the solemnity of public marriage, " so it is 
no less disorderly, upon a s[)iritual account, for any one to 
claim the privileges of a Cluirch, or to be admitted to the 
same, till they had been under the solemnity of re-baptism." 
" These words," said Bunyan, " are very black. I wot that 
through ignorance and a ]n'ei)Osterous zeal he said it. God 
give him repentance! " They neitlier judged nor spoke so 
charitably of him. They called him a Machiavelian, a man 
devilish, proud, insolent, and presumptuous. Some com- 
pared him to the Devil ; others to a Bedlamite ; otliers to a 
sot; and they sneered at his low origin and the base occu- 
pation from which he had risen. " Such insults," said he, 
*'I freely bind unto me, as an ornament among the rest of 
my reproaches, till the Lord shall wipe them off at His 
coming." They reproached him for declining a jniblic cop- 
ference with them in London upon the matter in dispute. 
To this he answered tlius : "the reason why I came not 
among you, was partly because I consulted mine own Aveak- 
ness, and counted not myself, being a dull-headed man, able 
to engage so many of the chief of you as I was then in- 
formed intended to meet me. I also feared, in personal 
disputes, heats and bitter contentions might arise, a thing 
my spirit liathnot pleasure '^^ ^ fon^^^ ^Iso^ that both my- 



58 LIFE OF JOHAT BUNYAN. 

self and words would be misrepresented ; for if they thai 
answer a book will alter and screw arguments out of their 
places, and make my sentences stand in their own words, 
not mine, — when, I say, my words are in a book to be seen, — 
what would you have done had I in the least, either in mat* 
ter or manner, though but seemingly, miscarried among 
you?" 

Throughout this controversy Bunyan appears to great 
advantage as a meek, good man, beyond the general spirit 
of his age in toleration, and far beyond that of his fellow- 
sectarians. He was, indeed, of such catholic spirit that, 
though circumstances had made him a sectarian, he liked 
not to be called by the denomination of his sect. " I know 
none," says he, " to whom that title is so proper as to the 
disciples of John. And since you would know by what 
name I would be distinguished from others, I tell you I 
would be, and hope I am, a Christian ; and choose, if God 
should count me worthy, to be called a Christian^ a Be^ 
lieve7\ or other such name which is approved by the Holy 
Ghost. And as for those factitious titles of Anabaptists, 
Independents, Presbyterians, or the like, I conclude that 
they come neither from Jerusalem nor from Antioch, but 
rather from Hell and Babylon, for they naturally tend to 
divisions. You may know them by their fruits." 

In another of his treatises, he says, " jars and divisions, 
wranglings and prejudices, eat out the growth, if not the 
life, of religion. These are those waters of Marah that em-« 
bitter our spirits, and quench the spirit of God. Unity and 
Peace is said to be like the dew of Hermon (Psalm cxxxiii 
3), and as a dew that descended upon Zion, when the Lord 
promised His blessing. Divisions run religion into briars 
and thorns, contentions and j^arties. Divisions are to 
churches like wars in countries : where war is, the ground 
lieth waste and untilled ; none takes care of it. It is love 
that edifieth, but division pulleth down. Divisions are as 
the northeast wind to the fruits, which causeth them to 
dwindle away to nothing ; but when the storms are over 
evervthinfic b'^gins to grow. When men are divided they 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. ^^ 

seldom speak the truth in love ; and then no marvel, they 
grow not up to Him in all things which is the Head. It is 
a sad presage of an approaching famine (as one well ob- 
serves), not of bread, nor water, but of hearing the Word 
of God, when the thin ears of corn devour the plump, full 
ones ; when our controversies about doubtful things, and 
things of less moment, eat up our zeal for the more indis- 
putable and practical things in religion, — which may give 
us cause to fear that this will be the character by which our 
flge will be known to posterity, that it was the age which 
talked of religion most, and loved it least." It is of tlie 
divisions among those who could as little conform with one 
another as with the Church of England, that he is here 
speaking. And when his Mr. Bad man says that " no sm 
reigneth more in the world than pride among Professors," 
and asks " who is prouder than your Professors ? Scarcely 
the Devil himself : " Bunyan assents to this condemnation 
in the character of Mr. Wiseman, saying, " Who can con- 
tradict him ? The thing is too apparent for any man to 
deny." In his last sermon he complains of the many prayer 
less Professors in London. " Coffee-houses," he says, " will 
not let you pray ; trades will not let you pray ; looking- 
glasses will not let you pray: but if you was born of God 
you would." In another place his censure is directed 
against x\\e prayer ful ones. "The Pharisee, saith the text. 
stood and prayed with himself. It is at this day/' says 
Bunyan, *' wonderful common for men to pray extempore, 
also. To pray by a book, by a premeditated set form, is 
now out of fashion. He is counted nobody, now, that can 
not at any time, at a minute's warning, make a prayer of 
half an hour long. / am not against extempore prayer, for 
I believe it to be the best kind of praying : but yet I am 
jealous that there are a great many such prayers made, es- 
pecially in pulpits and public meetings, without the breath- 
ing of the Holy Ghost in them ; for if a Pharisee of old 
could do so, why may not a Pharisee now do the same ? 
Great is the formality of religion this day, and little the 
power thereof. How proud, how covetous, how like the 



ffQ JFE OF 10 HN BUNYAN. 

world in garb and guise, in words and actions, are most of 
the great Professors of this our day I But when they come 
' to divine worship, especially to pray, by their words and 
carriage there, one would almost judge them to be Angels 
in Heaven." Thus it a])pears Bunyan, like Wesley, lived to 
perceive that " often where there is most profession, there 
is least piety." 

This is manifest, also, in another passage, which is, more- 
over, worthy of notice, because it is in Bishop Latimer's 
vein. It is in his " Heavenly Footman, or description of the 
man that gets to Heaven, together with the way he runs in, 
the marks he goes by ; also, some directions how to run so 
as to obtain." ^Ko doubt it contains the substance of some 
of his sermons ; and to sermons in such a strain, however 
hearers might differ in taste and \\\ opinions, there are none 
who would not listen. " They that will have Heaven, they 
must run for it, because the Devil, the Law, Sin, Death, and 
Hell, follow them. There is never a poor soul that is going 
to Heaven, but the Devil, the Law, Sin, Death, and Hell, 
make after that soul. ' The Devil, your adversary, as a 
roaring Lion, goeth about, seeking whom he may devour.' 
And I will assure you the Devil is nimble ! he can run apace ; 
he is light of foot ; lie hath overtaken many ; he hath turned 
up their heels, and hath given them an everlasting fall. 
Also the Law ! that can shoot a great way : have a care 
thou keep out of the reach of those great guns the Ten 
Commandments . Hell also hath a wide mouth ; and can 
stretch itself farther than you are aware of ! And as the 
Angel said to Lot, * take heed, look not behind thee, neither 
tarry thou in all the plain (that is, anywhere between this 
and Heaven), lest thou be consumed,' so say I to thee, take 
heed, tarry not, lest either the Devil, Hell, Death, or the 
fearful curses of the Law of God do overtake thee, and throw 
thee doM'n in the midst of thy sins, so as never to rise and 
Recover again. If this were well considered, then thou, as 
well as I, wouldst say, they that will have Heaven must run 
for it! 

w g,,* \t ♦K^,, "''^nldst so run as to obtain the kinofdorp 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN 6i 

of Heaven, then, be sure that thou get into the way that 
leadeth thither : for it is a vain thing to thin'k that ever 
thou shalt have the prize, though thou runnest never so fast, 
unless thou art in the way tliat leads to it. Set the case, 
that there should be a man in London that w^as to run to 
run to York for a wager. Now, though he run never so 
swiftly, yet if he run full south, he might run himself quickly 
out of breath, and be never the nearer the prize, but rather 
the farther off. Just so it is here : it is not simply the run- 
ner, nor yet the hasty runner, that winneth the crown, un- 
less he be m the way that leadeth thereto. I have observed, 
that little time that I have been a Professor, that there is a 
^great running to and fro, some this way, and some that way, 
^et It is to be feared most of them are out of the way : and 
then, though they run as swift as the eagle can fly, they are 
beneiited nothing at all! Here is one run a Quahing^ an- 
other a Ranting ; one again runs after the Baptism^ and 
another after the Independency. Here's one for Freewill^ 
and another for Presbyter}/ ; and yet possibly most of 
these sects run quite the wrong way ; and yet every one is 
for his life, his soul, — either for Heaven or Hell ! Mistrust 
thy own strength, and throw it away ! Down on thy knees 
in prayer to the Lord, for the Sj^irit of truth ! Keep com- 
pany with the soundest Christians that have most experi- 
ence of Christ: and be sure thou have a care of Quakers, 
Ranters, Freewillers ; also, do not have too much company 
with some Anabaptists, though I go under that name 
myself.'" 

Little has been recorded of Bunyan during the sixteen 
years between his enlargement and his death. It appears 
that besides his yearly visit to London, he made stated cir- 
cuits into other parts of England ; that he exerted himself 
to relieve the temporal wants of those who were suffering 
as nonconformists under oppressive laws ; that he adminis- 
tered diligently to the sick and afflicted, and successfully 
employed his influence in reconciling differences among 
"professors of the Gospel,'^ and thus prevented "many dis- 
graceful and burdensome litigations." One of his biog- 



^ LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

raphers thinks it highly probable that he did not escape 
trouble in the latter part of Charles the Second's reign, *' as 
the justices of Bedford were so zealous in the cause of per- 
secution ; " but it is much more probable that in a jjlace 
where so much indulgence had been shown him during the 
latter years of his imprisonment, he was let alone ; and there 
^an be little doubt but that if he had undergone any further 
vexation for the same causes, a full account of it would have 
been preserved. At Bedford, where he was liked as well 
as known, he was evidently favored; in other places he 
would be exposed to the same risk as other nonconforming 
preachers ; and there is a tradition among the Baptists at 
Reading that he sometimes went through that town dcessed 
like a carter, and with a long whip in his hand to avoid de- 
tection. Reading was a place where he was well known. 
The house in which the Baptists met for worship was in a 
lane there ; and from the back door they had a bridge over 
a branch of the river Kennett, whereby in case of alarm 
they might escape. In a visit to that place he contracted 
the disease which brought him to the grave. A friend of 
his who resided there had resolved to disinherit his son; the 
young man requested Bunyan to interfere in his behalf ; he 
did so with good success, and it was his last labor of love ; 
for, returning to London on horseback through heavy rain, 
a fever ensued, which, after ten days, proved fatal. 

lie died at the house of his friend Mr. Stradwick, a gro- 
cer, at the sign of the Star, on Snow Hill; and was buried 
in that iriend's vault inBunhill Fields burial-ground, which 
the Dissenters regard as their Campo SantOy — and especially 
for his sake. It is said that many have made it their dt>eire 
to be interred as near as possible to the spot where his re- 
mains are deposited. His age and the date of his d^i>»*w*» 
are thus recorded in his epitaph: — 

Mr. John Bunyan, 
Author of the Pilgrim's Progress, 

ob. 12 Aug. 1688, cet. 60. 
The Pilgrim's Proj^ress now fs finished, 
And death has laid him in his earthlv bed 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 63 

It appears that at the time of his death, the Lord Mayor, 
Sir John Shorter, was one of his London flock. But though 
he had obtained favor among the magistracy, he was not 
one of those nonconformists who were duped by the insidi- 
ous liberality of the Government at that time, and lent their 
aid to measures which were intended for the destruction of 
the Protestant faith. *' It is said that he clearly saw througk 
the designs of the Court in favor of Popery," (blind, in- 
deed, must they have been who did not!) when James 
granted his indulgence to the Dissenters ; and that " he ad- 
vised his brethren to avail themselves of the sunshine by 
diligent endeavors to spread the Gospel, and to prepare for 
an approaching storm by fasting and prayer." " He fore- 
saw," says the Baptist Minister who added a supplement to 
his account of his own life, " all the advantages that could 
redound to the Dissenters would have been no more than 
what Polyphemus, the monstrous giant of Sicily, would havp 
allowed Ulysses, to wit, " that he would eat his men first, 
and do him the favor of being eaten last." — " When Regu- 
lators went into all cities and towns corporate to new-model 
the magistracy, by turning out some and putting inotliers," 
Bunyan labored zealously w ith his congregation "to pre- 
vent their being imposed on in that kind. And when a 
great man in those days coming to Bedford upon some such 
errand, sent for him (as was supposed), to give him a place 
of public trust, he would by no means come to him, but sent 
his excuse." 

His earliest biographer says, also, that " though by rea- 
son of the many losses he sustained by imprisonment and 
spoil, his chargeable sickness, &c., his earthly treasure 
swelled not to excess, yet he always had sufficient to live 
decently and creditably." But all that Bunyan had to lose 
by " spoil " was his occupation as a tinker, which, fortu- 
nately for him and the world, was put an end to earlier than 
in the course of his Preacher's progress he could otherwise 
have cast it off. That progress raised him to a station of 
respectability and comfort ; and he was too wise and too 
religious a man to desire riches either for kisiseli or his 



^^ LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

children. When a wealthy London citizen offered to take 
one of his sons as an apprentice without a premium, he de. 
clined the friendly and advantageous offer, saying, " God 
did not send me to advance my family, but to preach the 
Gospel." No doubt he saw something in the business itself, 
or in the way of life to which it led, unfavorable to the 
moral character. 

His widow put forth an advertisement stating her in- 
ability to print the Avritings which ne left unpublished, 
They are probably included in the folio edition of his works 
which was published in 1692, the year of her decease, by 
Bunyan's successor at Bedford, Ebenezer Chandler, and 
John Wilson, a brother minister of the same sect, Avho went 
in Bunyan's lifetime from the Bedford congregation to be 
the first pastor of a Baptist flock at Hitchen. 

Three children survived him ; there were none by the 
second marriage ; and the blind daughter, the only one 
whom it might have troubled him to leave with a scanty 
provision, happily died before him. He is said to have kept 
up " a very strict discipline in his family, in prayer and ex- 
hortations." Such a discipline did not in this case produce 
its usual ill effect ; for, according to what little is known of 
his children, they went on in the way they had been trained. 
His eldest son was forty-five years a member of the Bed- 
ford Meeting : he preached there occasionally, and was em- 
ployed in visiting the disorderly members ; he was there- 
fore in good repute for discretion, as well as for his religious 
character. The names of other descendants are in the 
books of the same meeting. In the burial-ground belong- 
ing to it his great-granddaughter Hannah Bunyan was in- 
terred in 1770, at the age of 76 ; and with her all that is re- 
lated of his posterity ends. 

A description of his character and person was drawn by 
his first biographer. " He appeared, in countenance," says 
that friend, " to be of a stern and rough temper ; but in his 
conversation mild and affable : not given to loquacity or 
much discourse in company, unless some urgent occasion 
required it ; observing never to boast of himself or his parts. 



IrFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 65 

but rather seem low in his own eyes, and submit himself to 
the judgment of others ; abhorring lying and swearing ; be- 
ing just in all that lay in his power to his word ; not seem- 
ing to revenge injuries ; loving to reconcile differences, and 
make friendship with all. He had a sharp, quick eye, ac- 
complished with an excellent discerning of persons, being o^ 
good judgment and quick wit. As for his person, he was 
tall of stature ; strong-boned, though not corpulent ; some- 
what of a ruddy face, with sparkling eyes; wearing his 
hair on his upper lip, after the old British fashion ; his hair 
reddish, but in his latter days time had sprinkled it with 
gray ; his nose well set, but not declining or bending, and 
his mouth moderate large ; his forehead something high, and 
his habit always plain and modest. And thus have we im- 
partially described the internal and external parts of a per- 
son who had tried the smiles and frowns of Time, not puffed 
up in prosperity, nor shaken in adversity, always holding 
the golden mean." 

It remains now to speak of that work which has made 
the name of Bunyan famous. 

It is not known in what year the Pilgrim's Progress was 
first published, no copy of the iirst edition having as yet 
been discover^. The secona is in the British Mu^seum : it 
is " with additions," and its date is 1678 ; but as the book 
is known to have been written during Bunyan's imprison- 
ment, which terminated in 1672, it was probably published 
before his release, or at least immediately after it. The 
earliest with which Mr. Major has been able to supply me, 
either by means of his own diligent inquiries, or the kind- 
ness of his -^1 lends, is that " •ighth e-di-ti-on,*' so humor- 
ously introduced by Gay, and printed, — not for Ni-cho-las 
Bod-ding-ton,* but for Nathaniel Ponder, at the Peacock 
in the Poultrey, near the Church, 1682 ; for whom also the 
ninth was published in 1684, and the tenth in 1685. All 
these, no doubt, were large impressions. 

* This immortal name appears to the sixth edition of the second pan^ 
" Printed for Robert Ponder, and sold bv Nicholas Boddington, in Duct 
Lane, 1693." 



^ LIFE OF JOHN B UNTA N 

Thisnoted eighth edition is ''with addition :''but there 
is ny> J-eason to suppose that they were *'new ones, never 
made before/' for the ninth and tenth bear the same prom- 
ise, and contain no alternation whatever. One passage of 
considerable length was added after the second edition. — 
the whole scene between Mr. Byends and his three friends, 
and their subsequent discourse with Christian and FaithfuL 
It appears to have been written with reference to some par. 
ticular case ; and in Bunyan's circle the name of the person 
intended was probably well known. Perhaps it was first in- 
serted in the fourth impression, " which had many additions 
more than any preceding." This is stated in an advertise- 
ment on the back of the frontispiece to tlie eiglith ; where 
it is also said, " the publisher observing tliat many persona 
desired to have it illustrated with pictures, hath endeavored 
to gratify tliem therein : and besides those that are ordina- 
rily printed to the fifth imj)ression, hath provided tliirteen 
copper cuts curiously engraven for such as desire them." 
This notice is repeated in the next edition, with this altera- 
tion, that the seventh instead of the fourth is named as hav- 
ing the additions, and the eighth is that which has the ordi- 
nary prints. I can only say with certainty that no additions 
have been made subsequently to the eiglith ; and no other 
alterations than such verbal ones as an editor has sometimes 
thought proper to make, or as creep into all books which 
are reprinted without a careful collation of the text. 

The rapidity with which these editions succeeded on* 
another, and the demand for pictures to illustrate them, ar« 
not the only proofs of the popularity which the Pilgrim's 
Progress obtained before the second part was published. In 
the verses prefixed to that part, Bunyan complains of dis- 
honest imitators. 

* • * " Some have, of late, to counterfeit 
My Pilgrim, to their own, my title set ; 
Yea, others, half my name, and title to<i, 
Have stitched to their books, to make them do.** 

Only one of these has fallen in my way, — for it is by 
accident only that books of this perishable kind, which have 
no merit of their own to nreserv© them, are ♦c ^^e met wito , 



LIFE OF JOHN BUN-YAN, f^ 

and this, though entitled " the Second Part of the Pilgrim's 
Progress," * has mo other relation to the first than in its 
title, which was probably a trick of the ])ublishers. These 
interlopers may very likely have given Banyan an additional 
inducement to prepare a second part himself. It appeared 
in 1684, with this notice on the back of the title page : " I 

* " from this Present World of Wickedness and ^Tisery to an Eternity of Holi- 
ness and Felicity, exactly described under the simiiitjule of a dream, relating the 
manner ajid occasion of his setting out from, and ditiicult and dangerous journey 
th.-ough the world, and safe arrival at last to Eternal Happiness. 

♦• They were Strangers and Pilgrims on Earth, but they desired a better Coun- 
tjy, tLat is au Heavenly," (Hebrews, xi. 13, 16) 

••Le us lay aside every weight, and the sin that doth so easily beset us, and 
run with patience the race that is set before us" ^IIobrews, xii 1 ) 

LonJou . Printed f»>r Thomas Malthas, at the Sun, in the Poultry, 1G83. 
The author, who signs himself T. S , dedicates this book " to Him that f8 
hipher than the Highest ; the Almighty ami Evtrlasting Jehovah, who is the 
terror ind confusion of the hardened and impenitent world, and the hope and 
happiri«s8 of all converted and returning sinners." At the conclusion is au 
Apology for his Book, wherein he says that the hope of delivering plain truth in 
ft fanriliar manner, which should at the same time satisfy the judicious, and vet 
be uiiJcrs'.oud by the meanest cajiacities and the most illiterate persons, was the 
motive ' which put the author of the First Part of the Pilgrim's Progress upon 
co:uis3singana publishing that necessary and useful tract, which hath deservedly 
obtained such an univer:^al esteem and commendation. And this consideration 
liKeurise, together with the importunity of others, was the motive thaf prevailed 
with me to compose and publish tho following meditations in such a metbod as 
might serve as a supplement, or a second part to it: wherein I have endeavored 
to supply a fourfold defect, which, I observe, the brevity of tiiat discourse neces- 
sitated the author into : First, there is nothing said of the State of Man m his 
first ereation ; nor secondly, of the misery of Man in his lapsed estate, befora 
conversion : thirdly, a too brief passing over the methods of divine goodness in 
the convincing, converting, and reconciling of sinners to himself ; and fourthly, 
1 have endeavored to deliver the whole in such serious and spiritual phrases that 
may prevent that lightness and laughter which the reading some passages therein 
occasions in some vain and frothy minds. And now that it may answer my design, 
and b3 nniversallv useful, I commend both it and thee to the blessing of Him 
whose wisdom and power, grace and goodness. It Is that is only able to make it so. 
And withal I heartily wish that what hath been formerly proposed by some well, 
mindel persons, mi:iht be more generallv and nniversallv practiced, viz., the 
giving of books of this nature at funeral* instead of rings, gloves, wine, or biscuit, 
assuring myself that reading, meditation, and several holy and heavenly dis- 
towr^Prt which may probably be raised upon the o'^casion of such presents as these, 
would migbtny tend to the making people serious ; and furnish not only the 
person who discourses, but the rest who are present, and who would otherwise 
be emi>loying their thoughts and tongues too in such foolish, vain, and frothy 
discourse, as is too commonly used at such times, with such frames of spirits ad 
way be suitable to the greatness and solemnity of that occasion which th«>n calls 
them together. Among those few who have practiced this, abundance of good 
hath been observed to have been done by that means ; and who known, were u 
Biore generally used and become a custom amongst us at our barialB^ vb»t eojtf 
wdght be effected therebv ? '* 



68 LIFE OF "VCHA BUNYa.A/. 

appoint Mr. Nathaniel Ponder, but no other, to print this 
book. John Bunyan. January 1, 1684." No additions or 
alterations we-re made in this part, though the author lived 
more than four years after its publication. 

A collation of the first part with the earliest attainable 
copies has enabled me in many places to restore good old 
vernacular English, which had been injudiciously altered, 
or carelessly corrupted. This has also been done in the 
second part ; but there I had the first edition before me ; 
and in this, it is evident, had not been inspected, either 
in manuscript or while passing through the press, by any 
person capable of correcting it. It is plain that Bunyan had 
willingly availed himself of such corrections in the first part : 
and therefore it would have been improper to have restored 
a certain vulgarism* of diction in the second, which the 
editor of the folio edition had amended. Had it not been 
for this consideration, I should perhaps have restored his 
own text. For Bunyan was confident in his own powers of 
expression. He says : — 

»****« \h\u^ wnly way, 
Before them all. is to say out thy say 
In thine own native language, which no man 
Now useth, nor with ease dissemble can." 

When Bunyan's success had raised a brood of imitators, 
he was accused of being an imitator himself. He replied to 
this charge in some of his most characteristic rhymes, which 
were prefixed to his " Holy War," as an Advertisement t(? 
the Reader. 

Some say the Pilgrim's Progress is not mine, 
Insinuating as if I would shine 
In name and fame by the worth of another, 
Like some made rich by robbing of their brother 

Or that so fond I am of being Sire, 
I'll father bastards; or if need require, 
I'll tell a lye in print, to get applause. 

* The vulgarism alluded to consists in the almost uniform use of a for have,-« 
toever marked as a contraction ; as, for example, '• might a made me take heed,** 
** like to a been smothered," *a. 



I scorn it; John such dirt-heap never was 
Since God converted him. Let this suflace 
To show why I my Pilgrim patronize. 



It came from mine own heart, so to my head, 

And thence into my tingrers trickled, 

Then to nay pen, from whence immediately 

Oa paper I did dribble it daintily. 

, Manner and matter too was all mine owa; 

Nor was it unto any mortal known, 
Till I had done it. Nor did any then 
By books, by wits, by tongues, or hand, or pea, 
Add five words to it, or write half a line 
Thereof ; the whole ar-d every whit is mine. 

Also for T.7tis th:ne eye is now upon, 
The matter in this manner came from none 
But the same heart and head, fingers and pen. 
As did the other. Witness all good men. 
For no7ie in all the world, without a lyfe. 
Can say that " this is mine," excepting L 

I wrote not this of any ostentation; 
Nor 'cause I seek of men their commendation; 
I do it to keep them from such surmize, 
As tempt them will my name to scandaliaa 
Witness my name; if anagramm'd to thee, 
The letters make Na hony in a B. 

A passage has already been quoted from his account of a 

drearn, which evidently contains the germs of the "Pilgrim'g 
Progress." The same obvious allegory had been rendered 
familiar to his mind by the letter of the Italian Martyr 
Pomponius Algerius. " In this world," says the high-minded 
and triumphant Witness for the Truth, " there is no mansion 
firm to me ; and therefore I will travel up to the New Jeru- 
salem, which is in Heaven, and which offereth itself to me, 
without paying any fine or income. Behold, I have entered 
already on my journey, where my house stand eth for me 
prepared, and where I shall have riches, kinsfolks, delights 
•ilonors never failing " 

But original as Bunyan believed his own work to be, and 
as in the main undoubtedly it is, the same allegory had often 



^^ .UFE OF JOHN BUN y AIM 

been treated before him,— so often, indeed, that to notie( 
all preceding works of this kind would far exceed all reason 
able limits here. Some of these may have fallen in Bunvan*. 
way, and modified his own conception when he was no 
aware of any such influence. Montgomery, in his very abl( 
introductory Essay to the « PilgrinT's Progress," observes 
that " a Poem entitled " The Pilgrimage," in " Whitney'i 
Emblems," and the emblem which accompanies it, may have 
suggested to him the idea of his story. Indeed, he says "i; 
he had Whitney's picture before him he could not mon 
accurately have copied it in words," than in the passage 
where Evangelist directs Christian to the Wicket-Gate. 

Another book in which a general resemblance to the 
«* Pilgrim's Progress " has been observed, is the *' Voyage 
of the Wandering Knight," of which a translation from the 
French of the Carmelite Jean de Carthenay, was printed inl 
the reign of Elizabeth, the Carmelite himself having imitated 
a French poem (once very popular), composed A. D. 1310,i 
by Guill. de Guilleville, a monk of Chanliz, and entitled the 
"Pelerin de la Vie Humaine." There is a vague general 
resemblance in the subject of this work, and some occasional 
resemblance in the details ; but the coincidences are such as 
the subject would naturally lead to, and the « Pilgrim's Pro- 
gress" might have been exactly what it is, whetlfer Bunyan 
had ever seen this book or not. But he had certainly seen, 
Bernard's "Isle of Man, or the legal proceedings in ManJ 
shire agamst Sm; wherein, by way of a continued allegory,; 
the Chief Malefactors disturbing both Church and Common- 
wealth are detected and attached; with their arraignment ! 
and judicial trial, according to the Laws of England." This I 
was a popular book in Bunyan's time, printed in a cheap i 
lorm for popular sale, and « to be sold by most booksellers." I 
There is as much wit in it as in the "Pilgrim's Progress," 
and It is that vein of wit which Bunyan has worked with 
such good success. It wants the charm of story, and has 
nothing of that romantic interest which "holds children 
from sleep;" and therefore its popularity has passed away. 
But W is written with great spirit and ability, and for it» 



Ul^E OF JOHN BUN YA.y ^ ^ 

own merit, as Well as for the traits of the times with which 
it abounds, well deserves to be repriuted.* 

No one who reads this little book can doubt that it had 
a considerable effect upon the style of Bunyan's invention* 
The Bee had been shown by this elder one where honey of 
a peculiar flavor might be extracted, ]but the new honey was 
of our Bee's own gathering. 

Lately, however, a charge had been brought against 
John the Bee, of direct and knavish plagiarism. The foU 
lowing paragraph appeared in a London journal, and was 
generally copied into the provincial newspapers :— 

" The friends of John Bunyan will be much surprised to 
bear that he is not the author of the " Pilgrim's Progress,'* 
but the mere translator. It is, however, an act of plagia* 
risra to publish it in such a way as to mislead his readers 5 
but it is never too late to call things by their right names. 
The truth is, that the work was even published in Frencli, 
Spanish, and Dutch, besides other lan.^uages, before John 
Bunyan saw it ; and we have ourselves seen a copy in the 
Dutch language, with numerous plates, printed long pre- 
vious to Bunyan's time." 

" It is very difficult," says Montgomery, " to imagine for 
Rrhat purpose such a falsehood (it it be one) should be 
framed ; or how such a fact (if it be a fact) could have been 
30 long concealed ; or, when declared thus publicly, why it 
should never have been established by the production of 
this Dutch copy, with its numerous plates. Be this as it 
may, till the story is authenticated it must be regarded as 
utterly unworthy of credit." 

I also, upon reading this notable paragraph in a news- 

* In that vein Bernard has also been followed by Bishop Womack.— unless. 
Indeed, that excellent Divine intended, in his " Propria quae maribus," to satirize 
the absurd names given by the Puritans to their children : this, however, he 
might intend, and yet have imitated Bernard. The names of the Triers, in his 
"Examination of Tilenus," are Dr. Absolute, Mr. Fatality, Mr. Pretention, Mr. 
Efficax, Mr. Indefectible, Dr. Confidence, Mr. Meanwell, Mr. Simulant, Mr. 
Take-o'-Trust, Mr. Impertinent, Mr. Narrowgrace, in whom Philip Nye was per- 
aonated ; Mr. Knowlittle, who stood for Hugh Peters ; Dr. Dubious, whom no- 
body doubts to be tbe representation of Baxter ; and Dr. Damman, a name whick 
was that of one of the Secretaries at the Dort Synod, and which to an EngUslk 
•AT perfectly designated his rigid principles. 



^9 LIFE OP fOHN BUNYAN, 

paper, felt as Montgomery had done, and as ** it is nev^ 
too soon to call things by their right names," bestowed upo^ 
it at once its proper qualification. It would, indeed, be d 
impossible for me to believe that Bunyan did not write t]| 
" Pilgrim's Progress," as that Porson did write a certM 
copy of verses entitled the "Devil's Thoughts." Thei 
must have been a grievous want of common sense in tli 
person who wrote the paragrajDh, to suppose that . such 
plagiarism could have escaped detection till he discovere 
it, — Bunyan's book having been translated into those lai 
guages (and current in them), in one of which, accordii] 
to him, the original, and in the others, earlier versions c 
that original than the English " Pilgrim's- Progress," wer( 
existing! But there must have been a more grievous wana 
of fidelity in his assertions. If he had been able to read thi 
book which he saw, this gross accusation could never have 
been brought against John Bunyan. The book in question 
I have had an opportunity of perusing, through the kind- 
ness of its possessor, Mr. Offer. A person looking (li 
Bunyan's accuser) at the prints, and not understanding 
language in which the book is written, might have supposed 
that hints had been taken from them for the adventures at 
the Slough of Despond, and at Vanity Fair ; but that the 
" Pilgrim's Progress " was not a translation from the work 
he must have hiown^ for the Pilgrims in the prints are wo- 
men ; and it required no knowledge of Dutch to perceive 
that the book is written not as a narrative, but in a series 
of Dialogues. 

Bolswert, the engraver, is the author of this book, 
which is entitled " The Pilgrimage of Dovekin and Wille. 
kin to their Beloved in Jerusalem." The author was a true 
lover of his mother tongue, and more than once laments 
over the fashion of corrupting it with words borrowed from 
other languages. All the examples which he adduces of 
such adulterations are French. The book, though totally! 
neglected now, was once very popular ; my venerable friend 
Bilderdijk tells me that " it was one of the delights of hifl 
childhood." I am obliged to Mr. Major for a French traiw 



% 



LIFE OF JOHN' BUNYAN, y^ 

^tion of it, in which some intermediate possessor has drawn 
/lis pen through the name of Rousseau, that name appeat-in^, 
ttpon comparing it with a fac-simile in Rees's Cyclopedia, 
and with an autograph also, to be in the handwriting of 
Jean Jacques. The French translator, as might be expec'ted, 
has carefully got rid of everything which relates to Flemish 
manners and feelings, and the raciness of the original is 
completely lost in his version. 

The two sisters, Dovekin and Willekin, are invited in a 
dream by the Beloved, in the language of the Canticles, to 
arise and come away. Willekin, who is for a little more 
sleep, a little more slumber, is not inclined to accept the in- 
vitation, and disparages her lover, saying that he is no bet- 
ter than Joseph the Carpenter and Peter the Fisherman, 
with whom he used to keep company. Dovekin, however, 
persuades her to rise, and set off upon their pilgrimage to 
him. ^ It IS but a day's journey. They wash at their outset 
m a river of clear water which has its source in Rome, and 
(taking the x'^etherlands in its way) flows to Jerusalem ; and 
by this river they are to keep, or they will lose themselves. 
They gather flowers also at the beginning of their journey 
for the purpose of presenting them to the Bridegroom and 
his mother, whose favor Dovekin says it is of the utmost 
importance to obtain, and who, she assures her sister, dearly 
loves the Netherlanders. The wilful sister collects her flow- 
ers without any choice or care, loses them, over-eats her. 
self, and is obliged to go to the river to wash herself after 
eating. She then finds her flowers again, and they proceed 
till they come to a village, where it happens to be fair time, 
and Willekin will not be dissuaded by hei prudent sister 
from stopping to look at some mountebanks. The print 
annexed is what was supposed to represent Vanity Fair, 
whereof the story relates merely to a Flemish Kermes, and 
the only adventure which befalls the idle sister there, is, 
that she brings away from it certain living and loathsome 
parasites of humanity, who pass under a generic appellation 
in the French version, but iu the honest Dutch original 4r« 
called by their own name. 



j^ JFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

Going ont of her way to admire a peacock, Willekirt 
Bteps in the dirt. Presently she must go see some calves at; 
play, a cow bemires her with a whisk of her tail, and she 
must repair to the river and cleanse herself there again. 
Thank God for this river, says Dovekin. Poor thoughtless, 
incorrigible Willekin, thus goes on from one mishap to an- 
other, and taking a by-path falls into a ditch, which the de- 
tecter of Bunyan's plagiarism immediately supposed to be 
his Slough of Despond. She goes on committing follies at 
every occasion, and some crimes y and the end (for it must 
be needless to pursue the story) is that when they come 
within sight of Jerusalem, she climbs a steep and dangerous 
place, notwithstanding her sister's entreaties, in order to 
obtain a better prospect. The wind blows her down ; she 
falls into a deep pit, full of noxious creatures, where no help 
can be given her, and there she is left with broken bones, to 
her fate. Dovekin proceeds, reaches the suburbs of Jeru- 
salem, undergoes a purification in a tub, then makes a tri- 
umphant entrance into the city of Jerusalem m a lofty char- 
iot, and is there with all honor and solemnity espoused to 
the Bridegroom. And this is the book from which Bunyan 
was said to have stolen the "Pilgrim's Progress i " If ever 
there was a work which carried with it the stamp of origin- 
ality in all its parts, it is that of John Banyan ! 

Disraeli, from whose works the best-informed reader 
may learn much, and who in the temper of his writings, as 
well as in the research which they display, may be a usefuf 
model for succeeding authors, calls Bunyan " the Spenser of 
the people." He is, indeed, the Prince of Allegorists in 
prose. The allegory is never lost sight of in the first part : 
in the second it is not so uniformly preserved ; parties who 
begin their pilgrimage in childhood, grow up upon the way, 
pass through the stage of courtship, marry and are given in 
marriage, have children and dispose of their children. Yet 
to most readers this second part is as delightful as the first; 
and Bunyan had perhaps more pleasure in composing it 
not only because he was chewing the cud of his old inven- 
tions, but because there can be lo doubt that he compli« 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. yi, 

inenied the friends whom he delighted to honor, by giving 
tliem a place among the persons of his tale. We may be 
sure that Mr. Valiant-for-the-Truth, Old Honest of th« 
Town of Stupidity, Mr. Despondency and his daughter 
JVluchafraid, and their companions, were well known in 
*' Bishop Bunyan's " diocese ; and if no real characters were 
designed by him in those who are less favorably introduced 
as turning back on their journey, striking into by-paths, or 
slumbering by the way, likenesses would be discovered 
where none were intended. 

Kone but those who have acquired the ill habit of al- 
ways reading critically, can wish the Second Part had not 
been written, or feel it as a clog upon the first. There is a 
pleasure in travelling with another company over the same 
ground, a pleasure of reminiscence neither inferior in kind 
nor in degree to that which is derived from a first impres- 
sion. The author evidently felt this, and we are indebted 
to it for some beautiful passages of repose, such as that in 
the Valley of Humiliation. The manner in which Chris- 
tian's battle is referred to, and the traces of it pointed out, 
reminds one of what is perhaps the best imagined scene in 
Palmerin of England, where Palmerin enters a chapel, and 
is shown the tombs of some of the knights of King Lisuarte's 
court. 

Bunyan concludes with something like a promise of a 
third part. There aj^peared one after his death, by some 
unknown hand, and it has had the fortune to be included in 
many editions of the original work. It is impossible to state 
through how many editions that work has passed : probably 
no other book in the English language has obtained so con- 
stant and so wide a sale. The prints which have been en- 
graved to illustrate it would form a collection, not so ex- 
tensive, indeed, but almost as curious, as that which Duppa 
saw at Vallambrosa, where a monk had got together about 
eight thousand different engravings of the Virgin Mary. 
The worst specimens, both in wood and copper, would be 
found among them; as now some of the best are to be 
added. When the reader has seen Giant Slaygood with 



y5 UFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

Mr. Feeblemind in his hand, he will, I think, agree witb m© 
that if a nation of Anakim existed at this day, the ai-tist by 
whom that print was designed and executed, would deserve 
to be appointed historical painter to his highness the Prince 
of the Giants. 

The " Pilgrim's Progress " has more than once been 
" done into verse," but I have seen only one version, and 
that of only the First Part. It was printed by R. Tookey, 
and to be sold by the Booksellers of London and West' 
minster ; but if there be a date to this version, it has been 
torn off with the corner of the title-page from this well- 
thumbed and well-worn copy, for the use of which (as of 
other rare books that have been most useful on the present 
occasion) I am obliged to Mr. Alexander Chalmers. The 
versification is in the lowest Witherish strain, one degree 
only above Bunyan's own ; yet here and there with indica- 
tions of more power than the writer has thought proper to 
put forth. In general, the version keeps close to the origi- 
nal. In one place a stroke of satire is put into ApoUyon'g 
mouth, against the occasional conformists :— 

** Come go with me occasionally back, 
Katlier than a preferment lose or lack." 

And after the Pilgrims have crossed the river, this aisi- 
gular illustration occurs : — 

** Tlien on all sides the heavenly host enclose, 
A& through the upper regions all arose ; 
With mighty shouts and louder harmonies, 
Heaven's Opera seem'd as glorious to the eyes 
As if they had drawn up the curtain of the skies.** 

Though the story certainly is not improved by versify« 
ing it, it is less injured than might have been supposed in 
the process ; and perhaps most readers would read it with 
as much interest in the one dress as in the other. 

A stranger experiment was tried upon the " Pilgrim'ft 
Progress," in translating it mto other words, altering the 
names, and publishing it under the title of ** The Progress 



UFE OF JOHN- BUNYAN: ^y 

-sl the Pilgrim," without any intimation that this version is 
not an original work. Evangelist is here called Goodnews ; 
Worldly Wiseman, Mr. Politic Worldly; Legality, Mr. 
Lawdo ; the Interpretor, Director ; The Palace Beautiful, 
Graces Hall ; Vanity town is Mundus ; the Giant, is Giant 
Desperation of Diffident Castle, and the prisoners released 
from it, instead of Mr. Despondency and his daugliter 
Muchafraid, are "one Muchcastdown, and his kinsman 
Almost Overcome." This would appear to have been merely 
the device of some knavish booksellers for evading the laws 
which protect literary property ; but the person employed 
in disguising the stolen goods must have been a Roman 
Catholic, for he has omitted all mention of Giant Pope, 
and Fidelius suffers martyrdom by being hanged, drawn, 
and quartered. The dialogues are much curtailed, and the 
book, as might be expected, very much worsened through* 
out ; except that better verses are inserted. 

Bunyan could little have supposed that his book would 
ever be adapted for sale among the Romanists. Whether 
this was done in the earliest French translation I do not 
know; but in the second there is no Giant Pope; and lest 
the circumstance of the author should operate unfavorably 
for the reception of his work he is designated as un Mlnistre 
Anglais^ nomme Jean Bxtnian^ Pasteur cPime Eglise dans 
la Ville de Bedfort en Angleterre. This contains only the 
first part, but promises the second should it be well received. 
The first part under the title of le Pelerinage d\in nomme 
Chretien^ forms one of the volumes of the Petite Pibliotheque 
du CathoUque, and bears in the title-page a glorified head 
of the Virgin. A Portuguese translation (of the first part, 
also), and in like manner cut down to the opinions of the 
public for which it was designed, was published in 1782. 
Indeed, I believe there is no European language into which 
the " Pilgrim's Progress " has not been translated. " The 
Holy War " has been little less popular ; and if " The Life 
and Death of Mr. Badman " has not been as generally read, 
it is because the subject is less agreeable, no* *^at it has 
been treated with inferior ability. 



fHE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY* 

FOB 

HIS BOOK 



When at the first I took my pen in hand 
Thus for to write, I did not understand 
That 1 at all should make a little book 
In such a mode: nay, I had undertook 
To make anothoj^ which, when almost done. 
Before I was aware, 1 this begun. 

And thus it was t I, writing of the way 
And race of saints in this our gospel-day, 
Fell suddenly into an allegory 
About their journey, and the way to glory, 
In more than twenty things, which I set down ; 
This done, I twenty more had in my crown ; 
And they again began to multiply, 
Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly. 
Kay, then, thought I, if that you breed so fast, 
I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last 
Should jjrove ad infinitum^* and eat out 
The book that I already am about. 

Well, so I did ; but yet I did not think 
To show to all the world my pen and ink 
In such a mode ; I only thought to make 
I knew not what, nor did I undertake 
Thereby to please my neighbor ; no, no4 1 \ 
I did it my own self to gratify. 

• Without oiA. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^ 

Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 
In this my scribble ; nor did I intend 
But to divert myself, in doing this, 
From worser thoughts, which make me do amiss. 

Thus I set pen to paper with delight, 
And quickly had my thoughts in black and white j 
For having now my method by the end, 
Still as I puU'd, it came ; and so I penn'd 
It down ; until at last it came to be, 
For length and breadth, the bigness which you SM. 

Well, when I had thus put mine ends together, 
I show'd them others, that I might see whether 
TI»ey would condemn them, or them justify : 
And some said, Let them live ; some, Let them ^m \ 
Some said, John, print it ; others said, Not so -• 
Some said, It might do good ; others said, Nik 

Now was I m a strait, and did not see 
Which was the best thing to be done by me : 
At last I thought. Since ye are thus divided, 
I print it will ; and so the case decided. 

For, thought I, some I see would have it done, 
Though others in that channel do not run : 
To prove, then, who advised for the best, 
Thus I thought fit to put it to the test, 
I further ^bought, if now I did aeny 
Those that would have it, thus to gratify ; 
I did not know, but hinder them I might 
Of that which would to them be great delight 
For those which were no for its coming forth, 
I said o them. Offend you, I am loith : 
Yet since your brethren pleased with It be, 
Forbear to judge, till you do further see. 

If that thou wilt not read, let it alone ; 
Some love the meat, some love to pick the boG^ %, 
Yea, that I might them better moderate, 
I did too with them thus expostulate i 



8o TIIE A Ul 'HOR'S A POL OGY. 

May I not write in such a style as this ? 
In such a method, too, and yet not miss 
My end — thy good ? Why may it not be done ? i 

Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring .losifti 
Yea, dark or bright, if th»y their silver drops 
Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops, 
Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either, 
But treasures up the fruit they yield together ; 
Yea, so commixes both, that in their fruit 
Kone can distinguish this from that ; they suit 
Her well when hungry ; but, if she be full. 
She spews out both, and makes their blessibg nulL 

You see the ways the fisherman doth take 
To catch the fish ; what engines doth he make 2 
Behold how he engageth all his witb ; 
Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets : 
Yet fish there be, that neither hook nor line. 
Nor snare, nor net, nor engine, can make thine : 
They must be grop'd for, and be tickled too. 
Or they will not be catch'd, whatever you do. 

How does the fowler seek to catch his game f 
By divers means, all which one cannot name : 
His guns, his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and bell j 
He creeps, he goes, he stands ; yea, who can teU 
Of all his postures ? Yet there's noiie of these 
Will make him master of what fowls he please. 
Yea, he must pipe and whistle, to catch this / 
Yet, if he does so, that bird he will miss. 

If that a pearl may in toad's head dwell, 
And may be found, too, in an oyster-shell ; 
If things that promise nothing, do contain 
What better is than gold ; who will disdam. 
That have an inkling * of it, there to look, 

* Hint, whisper, iiisinuaticsL 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. %x 

That they may find it ? Kow, my little book 
(Though void of all these paintings that may make 
It with this or the other man to take). 
It is not without those things that do excel 
What do in brave but empty notions dwelL 

« Well, yet I am not fully satisfied 
That this your book will stand, when soundly tried." 

Why, what's the matter? "It is dark." What though? 
« But it is feigned." What of that ? I trow 
Some men by feigned words, as dark as mine, 
Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine I 
*'But they want solidness." Speak, man, thy mind. 
** They drown the weak ; metaphors make us blind." 

Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen 
Of him who writeth things divine to meu : 
But must I needs want solidness, because 
By metaphors I speak ? Were not God's Iaw8» 
His gospel laws, in olden time held forth 
By shadows, types, and metaphors ? Yet loath 
Will any sober man be to find fault 
With them, lest he be found for to assault 
The highest wisdom i No, he rather stoops. 
And seeks to find out what, by pins and loops, 
By calves and sheep, by heifers and by rams. 
By birds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs, 
God speaketh to him ; and happy is he 
That finds the light and grace that in them be 

Be not too forward, therefore, to conclude 
That I want solidness— that I am rude : 
All things solid in show, not solid be ; 
All things in parable despise not we. 
Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive. 
And things that good are, of our souls bereavo. 
My dark and cloudy words, they do but hold 
The truth, as cabinets inclose the gold* 



«a THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY. 

The prophets used much by metaphors 
To set forth truth : yea, who so considers 
Christ, his apostles too, shall plainly gee 
That truths to this day in such mantles be. 

Am I afraid to say, that holy writ, 
Which for its style and phrase puts down all ws^ 
Is everywhere so full of all these things. 
Dark figures, allegories ? Yet there springs 
From that same book, that lustre, and those rayp 
Of light, that turn our darkest nights to days. 

Come, let my carper to his life now look. 
And find there darker lines than in my book 
He findeth any ; yea, and let him know, 
That in his best things there are worse lines too. 

May we but stand before impartial men, 
To his poor one I dare adventure ten. 
That they will take my meaning in these lines 
Far better than his lies in silver shrines. 
Come, Truth, although in swaddling-clothes, I ficK* 
Informs the judgment, rectifies the mind ; 
Pleases the understanding, makes the will 
Submit : the memory too it doth fill 
With what doth our imagination please ; 
Likewise it tends our troubles to appease. 

Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use 
And old wives' fables he is to refuse ; 
But yet grave Paul him nowhere doth forbid 
The use of parables, in which lay hid 
That gold, those pearls, and precious stones that wer^g 
Worth digging for, and that with greatest care. 

Let me add one word more. Oh, man of God^ 
Art thou offended ? Dost thou wish I had 
Put fortn my matter in another dress ? 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Or that I had in things been more express? 
To those that are my betters, as is fit, 
Three things let me propound, then I submit. 

1. I find not that I am denied the use 
Of this my method, so I no abuse, 
Put on the words, things, readers, or be rude 
In handling figure or similitude, 
In application ; but all that I may 
Seek the advance of truth this or that way. 
Denied, did I say? Nay, I have leave. 
(Examples, too, and that from them that have 
God better pleased, by their words or ways^ 
Than any man that breatheth now-a-days,) 
Thus to express my mind, thus to declare 
Things unto thee that excellentest are. 

% I find that men as high as trees will write 
i)ia^ogue-wise ; yet no man doth them slight 
For vrriting so. Indeed, if they abuse 
Truth, cursed be they, and the craft they use 
To that intent ; but yet let truth be free 
To make her sallies upon thee and me, 
^hich way it pleases God : for who knows how< 
Better than he that taught us first to plough. 
To guide our minds and pens for his design? 
And he makes base things usher in divine. 

3. I find that holy writ, in many places, 
Hath semblance with this method, where the ca;8« 
Do call for one thing to set forth another: 
Use it I may, then, yet nothing smother 
Truth's golden beams : nay, by this method may 
Make it cast forth its rays as light as day. 

Add now, before I do put up my pen, 
I'll show the profit of my book ; and then 
Commit both thee and it unto that hand 
Th^t pulls the etrouig down, aud makes weak ones stand. 



g^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

This book, it chalketh out before thine eyes 
The man that seeks the everlasting prize : 
It shows you whence he comes, whither he jj^'v*©! 
What he leaves undone ; also what he doe^^ 
It also shows you how he runs, and runs, 
Till he unto the gate of glory comes. 
It shows, too, who set out for life amain, 
As if the lasting crown they would obtain. 
Here, also, you may see the reason why 
They lose their labor, and like fools do die. 

This book will make a traveller of thee, 
If by its counsel thou wilt ruled be ; 
It will direct thee to the Holy Land, 
If thou wilt its directions understand. 
Yea, it will make the slothful active be ; 
The blind also delightful things to see. 

Art thou for something rare and profitable \ 
O would'st thou see a truth within a fable ? 
Art thou forgetful ? Wouldst thou remember 
From New-Year's day to the last of December? 
Then read my fancies ; they will stick like burs, 
And may be to the helpless comforters. 

This book is writ in such a dialect 
As may the minds of listless men affect : 
It seems a novelty, and yet contains 
Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains. 

Would 'st thou divert thyself from melancholy? 
Would'st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly ? 
Would'st thou read riddles, and their explanation ? 
Or else be drowned in thy contemplation ? 
Dost thou love picking meat ? Or would'st thou se* 
A man i' the clouds, and hear him speak to thee ? 



THE A UTHOR'S APOLOG Y g» 

Would'st thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep? 

Or would'st thou in a moment laugh and weep ? 

Would'st thou lose thyself and catch no harm, 

And find thyself again, without a charm ? 

Would'st read thyself, and read thou know'st not what, 

And yet know whether thou art blest or not, 

"^y reading the same lines ? Oh, then come hither, 

And lay my book, thy head, and heart together. 

JOHN BIJNYAN. 



THE 

PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



THE FIRST STAGE. 

As I walked through the wilderness of this world, 
I lighted on a certain place where was a den,* and laid 
me down in that place to sleep; and as I slept, I 
dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man 
clothed with rags standing in a certain place, with his 
face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great 
burden upon his back. (Isa. 64:: 6; Luke 14 : 33; Psalm 
38 : 4.) I looked and saw him open the book, and 
Tead therein; and as he read he wept and trembled; 
and not being able longer to contain, he brake out with 
a lamentable cry, saving, ""What shall I do?" (Acts 
2: 37; 16: 30; Habak. 1: 2,3.) 

In this plight, therefore, he went home, and re- 
strained himseK as long as he could, that his wife and 
children should not perceive his distress; but he could 
not be silent long, because that his trouble increased. 
Wherefore at length he brake his mind to his wife and 
children, and thus he began to talk to them . " O, my 
dear wife," said he, " and you the children of my bow- 
Bedford Jail, in which the author was a prisoner for eoascience' sake. 



S8 THE PILGRIM *S PROGRESS^ 

els, I, your dear friend, am in mjself undone by reason 
of a burden that lieth hard upon me ; moreover, I am cer- 
tainly informed that this our city will be burnt with fire 
from heaven ; in which fearful overthrow, both m3^self, 
with thee my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall miser- 
ably come to ruin, except (the which yet I see not) some 
way of escape can be found whereby we may be deliv- 
ered." At this his relations were sore amazed ; not for 
that they believed that what he had said to them was 
true, but because they thought that some frenzy dis- 
temper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing to- 
wards night, and they hoping that sleep might settle 
his brains, with all haste they got him to bed. But the 
night was as troublesome to him as the day ; where- 
fore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. 
So when the morning was come, they would know how 
he did. He told them, " Worse and worse ; " he also 
t^ct to talking to them again ; but they began to be 
hardened. They also thought to drive away his distem- 
per by harsh and surly carriage to him; sometimes they 
would deride, sometimes they would chide, and some- 
times they would quite neglect him. Wherefore he 
began to retire himself to his chamber to pray for and 
pity them, and also to condole his own misery; he 
would also walk solitarily in the fields, sometimes read- 
ing, and sometimes praying : and thus for some days 
he SDent his time. 

Now I saw, upon a time, when he was walking in 
the fields, that he was (as he was wont) reading in his 
Dook, and greatly distressed in his mind ; ana as ne reaa, 
he burst out, as he had done before, crying, *' What 
shall I do to be saved V (Acts 16: 30, 31.) 

I saw also that he looked this way, and that way, aa 
:f he would run; yet he stood still because (as I per- 
ceived) he could not tell which way to go. I looked 



THE PILGRIM^S PROGRESS. gg 

then, and saw a man named Evangelist coming to bim, 
and he asked, " Wherefore dost thou cr j ? " 

He answered, *' Sir, I perceive, by the book in my 
hand, that I am condemned to die, and after that te 
come to judgment (Heb, 9 : 27) ; and I find that I am 
not willing to do the first (Job 10 : 21, 22), nor ablfi to 
do the second." (Ezek. 22: 14.) 

Then said Evangelist, *'Why not willing t^' die» 
since this life is attended with so many evils ? " The 
man answered, " Because I fear that this burden that 
is upon my back will sink me lower than the gi-ave, and 
I shall fall into Tophet. (Isa. 30: 33.) And sir, if! 
be not fit to go to prison, 1 am not fit to ^o to judg- 
ment, and from thence to execution ; au(?. './he thoughts 
of these things make me cry/* 

Then said Evangelist, "If this bo thy condition, 
why standest thou still ? " He ancjWijred, " Because I 
know not whither to go.'* Thea he gave him a parch- 
ment roll, and there was written within, " Fly from the 
wrath to come." (Matt. 3 : 7.) 

The man therefore read it, and, looking upon Evan- 
gelist ver3^ carefully, said, *' Whither must I fly ? " 
Then said Evangelist (poinding with his finger over a 
very wide field), " Do you see yonder wicket gate?" 
(Matt. 7 : 13, 14.) The man said, " No." Then said 
the other, " Do 3^ou see yonder shining light? " (Psalm 
119 : 105 ; 2 Pet. 1 : 19.) He said, " I think I do." 
Then said Evangelist, " Keep that light in your eye^ 
and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate ; 
at which, when thou knockest, it shall be told thee 
what thou shalt do.' So I saw in my dream that the 
man began to run. Now he had not run far from his 
own door when his wife and children, perceiving it, be» 
gan to cry after him to return ; but the man put his 
fingers in bis ears and ran on, crying, *' Life ! life I eter* 



-O THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

nal life I " (Luke 14 : 26.) So he looked not behind him 
(Gen. JO: 17), but fled towards the middle of the plain. 

The n-eighbors also came out to see him run (Jer. 
20 : 10) ; and as he ran, some mocked, others threatened, 
and some cried after him to return -, and among those 
that did so, there were two tiiat resolved to fetch him 
back by force. The name of the one was v.;bstinate, 
and the name of the other Pliable. Now by this time 
the man was got a good distance from them , but, how- 
ever, they were resolved to pursue him, which they did, 
and in a little time they overtook him. Then said the 
man. ** Neighbors, wherefore are ye come ? " They 
said, *' To persuade you to go back with us." But he 
said, *' That can by no means be : you dwell," said he, 
"in the city of Destruction, the place also where I was 
born : 1 see it to be so ; and dying there sooner, or later 
you will sink lower than the grave, into a plr*ce that 
burns with fire and brimstone : be content, good neigh- 
bors, and go along with me.'* 

Obst. What, said Obstinate, and leave our friends 
and our comforts behind us ! 

Chr. Yes, said Christian (for that was his name), 
because that all which you forsake is not worthy to be 
compared with a little of that I am seeking to enjoy 
(2 Cor. 4 : 18) ; and if you will go along with me, and 
hold it, you shall fare as I myself; for there, where I 
go, is enough and to spare. (Luke 15 : 17.) Come 
away, and prove my words. 

Obst. What are the things you seek, since you leave 
all the world to find them ? 

Chr. I seek an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, 
mnd that fadeth not away (1 Peter 1:4); and it is laici 
up in heaven, and safe there (Heb. 11 : 16), to be be- 
•towed, at the time appointed, on them that diligentlj 
loek it. Read it so, if you will, in my book 



Obst. Tush, said Obstinate, away with your book: 
will you go back with us or no ? 

CgR. No, not I, said the other, because I have laid 
my hand to the plough. (Luke : 6:1) 

Obst. Come then, neighbor Pliable, let us turn 
as^ain, and go home without him : there is a company 
01 these crazy-headed coxcombs, that when they take a 
fancy by the end, are wiser in their own eyes than seven 
men that can render a reason. 

Pli. Then said Pliable, Don't revile ; if what good 
'Christian says is true, the things he looks after are 
better than ours : my heart inclines to go with my 
neighbor. 

Obst. What, more fools still ! Be ruled by me, and 
go back, who knows Avhither such a brain-sick fellow 
will lead you ^ Go back, go back, and be wise. 

Chr. Nay, but do thou come with thy neighbor 
Pliable ; there are such things to be had which J spokd 
of, and many more glories besides. If you believe not 
me, read lit;, o in this book ; and for the truth of what 
is expressed therein, behold, all is confirmed by the 
^lood of Him that made it. (Heb. 9 : 17-21.) 

Pli. V/ell, neighbor Obstinate, said Pliable, I be- 
gin to come to a point ; I intend to go along with this 
good man, and to cast in my lot with him ; but, my 
good companion, do you know the way to this desired 
place ? 

Chr. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evan- 
gelist, to speed me to a little gate that is before ua, 
where we shall receive instructions about the way. 

Pli. Come then, good neighbor, let us be going. 
Then they went both together. 

Obst. And I will go back to my place, said Obst* 
nate : I will be no companion of such misled, fan 
cal fellows. 



^ tBE PILGRIM'S PROGitJBJS&. 

Kow I saw in my dream, that when Obstinate wag 
gono back, Christian and Pliable went talking over the 
plain ; and thus they began their discourse. 

Ctifi. Come, neighbor Pliable, how do you do ? I" 
am glad you are persuaded to go along with me. Had , 
even Obstinate himself but felt what I have felt of the 
powers and terrors of what is yet unseen, he would not 
thus lightly have given us the back, 

Pli. Come, neighbor Christian, since there are 
none but us two here, tell me now further, what the 
things are, and how to be enjoyed, whither we are 
going. 

Chr. I can better conceive of them with my mind, 
than speak of them with my tongue: but yet, since 
you are desirous to know, I will read of them in my 
book. 

Pli. And do you think that the words of your book 
are certainly true ? 

Chr. Yes, verily ; lor it was made by him that can* 
not lie. (Tit. 1 : 2.) 

Pli. Well said ; what things are they ? 

Chr. There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, 
and everlasting life to be given us, that we may in- 
habit that kingdom forever. (Isa. ^^x IT ; John 10 1 
27-29.) 

Pll. Well said ; and what else ? 

Che. There are crowns of glory to be given us ; 
and garments that will make us shine like the sun in 
the firmament of heaven. (2 Tim. 4:8; Rev. 22 : 5 ; 
Matt. 13 : 43.) 

Pli. This is very pleasa;it ; and what else ? 

Chr. There shall be no laore crying, nor sorrow} 
for he that is owner of the place will wipe all tears 
feom our eyes. (Isa. 25 : 8 ; Rev. 7 : 16, 17 ; 21: 4.) 

Pli. And what company sLail we have thewj ? 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^ 

Chr. There we shall be with seraphims and cheru- 

bims (Isaiah 6: 2; 1 Thess. 4: 16, 17; Rev. 5 : 11), 

creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them, 

There also you shall meet with thousands and ten thou- 

sands that have gone before us to that place • none of 

them are hurtful, but loving and holy ; every one walk. 

mg in the sight of God, and standing in his presence with 

acceptance forever. In a word, there we shall see the 

elders with their golden crowns (Rev. 4 : 4) ; there we 

shall see the holy virgins with their golden harps (Rev, 

14: l-,5) ; there we shall see men, that by the world 

were cut in pieces, burnt in flames, eaten of beasts, 

drowned in the seas, for the love they bare to the Lord 

of the place (John 12 : 25) ; all well, and clothed with 

immortality as with a garment. (2 Cor. 5 : 2.) 

Pli. The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's 
heart. But are these things to be enjoyed ? How shall 
we get to be sharers thereof? 

Chr. The Lord, the governor of the country, hath 
recorded that in this book (Isaiah 55 : 1, 2 ; John 6 : 

^V- I'.^^' ^^^' ^^' ^' -• ^^^' *^^ substance of 
which is. If we be truly willing to have it, he will be- 
stow it upon us freely. 

Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear 
of these things : come on, let us mend our pace. 

Chr. I cannot go as fast as I w. uld, by reason of 
this burden that is on my back. 

Now I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended 
this talk, they drew nigh to a very miry slough that 
was in the midst of the plain: and they being heedless, 
did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the • / 
Blough was Despond. Here, therefore, they wallowed ' \ 
for a time, being grievously bedaubed with dirt; and ' 
Christian, because of the burden that was on his baek, ) 
began to sink in the mirQ« I 



o^ THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS, 

Plt. Then said Pliable, Ah, neighbor Christian, 
where are you now ? 

Ckr. Truly, said Christian, I do not know. 

Pli. At this Pliable began to be offended, and an- 
grily said to his fellow. Is this the happiness you have 
told me all this while of? If we have such ill speed at 
our first setting out, what may we expect between this 
and our journey's end ? May I get out again with my 
life, you shall possess the brave country alone for me. 
And with that he gave a desperate struggle or two, and 
got out of the mire on that side of the slough which 
was next to his own house : so away he went, and 
Christian saw him no more. 

Wherefore Christian Was left to tumble in the Slough 
of Despond alone ; but still he endeavored to struggle 
to that side of the slough that was farthest from his 
own house, and next to the wicket gate ; the which he 
did, but could not get out because of the burden that 
was upon his back : but I beheld in my dream, that a 
man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked 
him what he did there. 

Chr. Sir, said Christian, I was bid to go this way 
by a man called Evangelist, who directed me also to 
yonder gate, that I might escape the wrath to come. 
And as I was going thither, I fell in here. 

Help. But why did not you look for the steps ? 

Chr. Fear followed me so hard that I fled the next 
way, and fell in. 

Help. Then said he. Give me thine hand : so he gave 
uim his hand, and he drew him out (Psalm 40 : 2), and 
iie set him upon sound ground, and bid him go on his 
way. 

Then I stepped to him that plucked him out, and 
said, " Sir, wherefore, since over this place is the way 
from the city of Destruction to yonder gate, is it, that 



rHE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. q. 

Jhis plat IS not mended, that poor travellers might go 
thither with more security?'' And he said un'to me, 
•' This miry slough is such a place as cannot be mended : 
it is the descent whither the scum and filth that at- 
tends conviction for sin doth continually run, and 
therefore it is called the Slough of Despond ; for still, 
as the sinner is awakened about his lost condition, 
there arise in his soul many fears and doubts, and di* 
couraging apprehensions, which all of them get to- 
Kether,^ and settle in this place: and this is the reason 
of the badness of this o-round. 

" It is not the pleasure of the King that this place 
should remain so bad, (Isa. 35 ; 3, 4.) His laborers 
also have, by the direction of his Majesty's surveyors, 
been for above these sixteen hundred years employed 
about this patch of ground, if perhaps it might have 
been mended • yea, and to my knowledge," said he, 
'' there have been swallowed up at least twenty thou- 
sand cartloads, yea, millions of v>rholesome instructions, 
that have afc all seasons been brought from all places of ' 
the King's dominions (and they that can tell, say, they 
are the best materials to make good ground of the' 
place), if so be It might have been mended ; but it is 
the Slough of Despond still, and so will be when they 
have done what they can. 

"True, there are, by the direction of the Lawgrver,\ 
certain good and substantial steps, placed even through 
the very midst of this slough; but at such time as this 
place doth much spew out its filth, as it doth against 
change of weather, these steps are hardly seen ; or if! 
they be, men, through the dizziness of their heads, step j 
beside, and then they are bemired to purpose, notwith-l 
standing the steps be there : but the ground is good 
when they are once got in at the ffate." (1 Sam. 
1^* 2Bo) 



^ THB PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

Now I saw in my dream, that by this time Pliable 
was got home to his house. So his neighbors came to 
visit him ; and some of them called him wise man for 
coming back, and some called him fool for hazarding 
himself with Christian : others again did mock at his 
cowardliness, saying, " Surely, since you began to ven- 
ture, I would not have been so base as to have given 
out for a few difficulties." So Pliable sat sneaking 
among them. But at last he got more confidence, and 
then they all turned their tales, and began to deride 
poor Christian behind his back. And thus much con- 
cerning Pliable. 

Now as Christian was walking solitarily by himself, 
he espied one afar off come crossing over the field to 
meet him ; and their hap was to meet just as they were 
crossing the way of each other. The gentleman's name 
that met him was Mr. Worldly Wiseman : he dwelt itt 
the town of Carnal Policy, a very great town, and also 
hard by from whence Christian came. ThiS man then, 
meeting with Christian, and having some hikling * of 
him (for Christian's setting forth from the city of De- 
struction was much noised abroad, not onl}^ in the town 
where he dwelt, but also it began to be the town-talk 
in some other places) — Mr. Worldly Wiseman, there- 
fore, having some guess of him, by beholding his labori- 
ous going, by observing his sighs and groans, and the 
like, began thus to enter into some talk with Christian. 

World. How now, good fellow, whither away after 
this burdened manner? 

Chr. a burdened manner indeed, as ever I think 
poor creature had ! And whereas you ask me. Whither 
away? I tell you, sir, I am going to yonder wicket» 
gate before me ; for there, as I am informed, I shall be 
put into a way to be rid of my heavy burdea. 

* Sliftbt know)ed«eo 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^* 

World. Hast thou a wife and children ? 
Chk. Yes ; but I am so laden with this burden, that 
I cannot take that pleasure in them as formerly : me- 
thinks I am as if I had none. (1 Cor. 7 : 29.) 

World. Wilt thou hearken to me, if I give thee 
cotinsel ? 

Chr. If it be good, I will ; for I stand in need of 
good counsel. 

World. I would advise thee, then, that thou with 
all speed get thyself rid of thy burden ; for thou wilt 
never be settled in thy mind till then : nor canst thou 
enjoy the benefits of the blessings which God hath be- 
stowed upon thee till then. 

Chr. That is that which I seek for, even to be rid of 
this heavy burden : but get it off myself I cannot, nor is 
there any man in our country that can take it off my 
shoulders ; therefore I am going this way, as I told you, 
that I may be rid of my burden. 

World. Who bid thee go this way to be rid of thy 
burden ? 

Chr. a man that appeared to me to be a very great 
md honorable person: his name, as I remember, is 
^ivangelist. 

World. I beshrew * him for his counsel ! There is 
lot a more dangerous and troublesome way in the world 
han is that into which he hath directed thee ; and that 
hou shaltfind, if thou wilt be ruled by his counsel, 
rhou hast met with something, as I perceive, already; 
or I see the dirt of the Slough of Despond is upon 
hee : but that slough is the beginning of the sorrows 
hat do attend those that go on in that way. Hear me: 
am older than thou : thou art like to meet with, in 
he way which thou goest, wearisomeness, painfulness, 
unger, perils, nakedness, sword, lions, dragons, dark^ 

• Wish a curse to. 



g THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

ness, and, in a word, death, and what not. These thitigs 
are certainly true, having been confirmed by many testi- 
monies. And should a man so carelessly cast away 
himself, by giving heed to a stranger ? \ 

Chr. Why, sir, this burden on my back is more ter-| 
rible to me than all these things which you have raeu^ 
tioned : nay, methinks I care not what I meet with in 
the wp^, if so be I can also meet with deliverance from • 
my burden. ■: 

" World. How earnest thou by thy burden at first ? \ 
Chr. By reading this book in my hand. Jj 

World. I thought so ; and it has happened unt^ 
thee as to other weak men, who, meddling with thing? 
too high for them, do suddenly fall into thy distractions 
which distractions do not only unman men, as thine 
perceive have done thee, but they run them upon de 
perate ventures, to obtain they know not what. 

Chr. I know what I would obtain ; it is ease fro 
my heavy burden. 

World. But w^hy wilt thou seek for ease this wa 
seeing so many dangers attend it? especially sin 
(hadsl; thou but patience to hear me) I could dire 
thee to the obtaining of what thou desirest, without th( 
dangers that thou in this way wilt run thyself int 
Yea, and the remedy is at hand. Besides, I will ad 
that instead of those dangers, thou shalt meet wi^ 
much safety, friendship, and content. 

Chr. Sir, I pray open this secret to me. 
World. Why, in yonder village (the village is nam 
Morality) there dwells a gentleman whose name is L©j 
gality, a very judicious man, and a man of a very good 
name, that has skill to help men off with such burdens 
as thine is from their shoulders; yea, to my knowledge, 
he hath done a great deal of good this way ; aye, anf 
besides, he hath skill to cure those that are somewhat, 

i 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



99 



crazed in their wits with their burdens. To him, as I 
said, thou mayest go, and be helped presently. His 
house is not quite a mile from this place ; and if he 
should not be at home himself, he hath a pretty young 
man to his son, whose name is Civility, that can do it 
(to speak on) as well as the old gentleman himself: 
there, I say thou mayest be eased of thy burden ; and 
if thou art not minded to go back to thy former habi 
tation (as indeed I would not wish thee), thou mayest 
send for thy wife and children to this village, wliere 
there are houses now standing empty, one of which 
thou mayest have at a reasonable rate: provision is 
there also cheap and good; and that which will make 
thy life the more happy is, to be sure there thou shalt 
live by honest neighbors, in credit and good fashion. 

Now was Christian somewhat at a stand ; but pres- 
ently he concluded. If this be true wliich this gentle- 
man hath said, my wisest course is to take his advice- 
and with that he thus further spake. 

Chk. Sir, which is my way to this honest mans 
hous 



>e 



^VoRLD. Do you see yonder high hill? 

Chr. Yes, very well. 

World. By that hill you must go, and the first 
house you come at is his. 

So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr. 
Legality's house for help: but. behold, when he was got 
now hard by the hill, it seemed so liigh, and also that 
side of it that was next the wayside did hang so much 
over, that Christian was afraid to venture farther, lest 
the hill should fall on his head ; wherefore there he 
stood still, and wotted not what to do. Also his bur- 
den now seemed heavier to him than while he was in 
his way. There came also 'lashes of fire (Ex. 19: IG, 
18), out of the hill, that made Christian afraid that he 



109 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

shoLild be burnt : here therefore he did sweat and quake 
for fear. (Heb. 12 : 21). And now he began to be 
sorry that he had taken Mr. Worldly Wiseman's coun- 
sel ; and with that he saw Evangelist coming to meet 
him, at the sight also of wl;iom he began to blush with 
shame. So Evangelist drew nearer and nearer; and 
coming up to him, he looked upon him, with a severe 
and dreadful countenance, and thus began to reason 
with Christian. 

Evan. What doest thou here. Christian ? said he : 
at which words Christian knew not what to answer ; 
wherefore at present he stood speechless before him. 
Then said Evangelist further, Art not thou the man 
that I found crying without the walls of the city of 
Destruction ? 

Chr. Yes, dear sir, I am the man. 

Evan. Did not I direct thee the way to the little 
wicket-gate ? 

Chr. Yes, dear sir, said Christian. 

Evan. How is it, then, thou art so quickly turned 
aside ? For thou art now out of thy way. 

Chr. I met with a gentleman so soon as I had got 
over the Slough of Despond, who persuaded me that 
I might, in the village before me, find a man that could 
take off my burden. 

Evan. What was he ? 

Chr. He looked like a gentleman, and talked much 
to me, and got me at last to yield : so I came hither : 
but when I beheld this hill, and how it hangs over the 
way, I suddenly made a stand, lest it should fall on my 
head. 

Evan. What said that gentleman to you ? 

Chr. Why, he asked me whither I was going ; and 
I told him. 

Evan. And what said he then? 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS, I q i 

Chr. He asked me if I had a family ; and I told 
him. But, said I, I am so laden with the burden that 
is on my back, that I cannot take pleasure in them as 
formerly. 

Evan. And what said he then ? 

Chr. He bid me with speed get rid of my burden ; 
and I told him it was ease that I sought. And, said I, 
I am therefore going to yonder gate, to receive further 
direction how I may get to the place of deliverance. 
So he said that he would show me a better way, and 
short, not so attended with difficulties as the way, sir, 
that you set me in ; which way, said he, will direct you 
to a gentleman's house that hath skill to take off these 
burdens : so I believed him, and turned out of that way 
into this, if haply I might be soon eased of my burden. 
But when I came to this place, and beheld things as 
they are, I stopped, for fear (as I said) of danger : but 
I now know not what to do. 

Evan. Then said Evangelist, Stand still a little, 
that I show thee the words of God. So he stood trem- 
bling. Then said Evangelist, " See that ye refuse not 
Him that speaketh ; for if they escaped not who refused 
him that spake on earth, much more shall not we escape, 
if we turn away from Him that speaketh from heaven." 
(Heb. 12 : 25.) He said, moreover, " Now the just shall 
live by faith ; but if any man draw back, my soul shall 
have no pleasure in him." (Heb. 10: 38.) He also did 
thus apply them ; Thou art the man that art running 
into this misery : thou hast begun to reject the counsel 
of the Most High, and to draw back thy foot from the 
way of peace, even almost to the hazarding of thy per- 
dition. 

Then Christian fell down at his feet as dead, crymg. 
Woe is me, for I am undone ! At the sight of which 
Evangelist caught him by the right baud, saying, " All 



,0, THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

manner of sin and blasphemies shall be forgiven unto 
men." (Matt. 12 : 31.) " Be not faithless, but believ- 
ing." (John 20 : 27.) Then did Christian again a 
little revive, an(i stood up trembling, as at first, before 
Evangelist. 

Then Evangelist proceeded, saying, Give more ear- 
nest heed to the things that I shall tell thee. I will 
now show thee who it was that deluded thee, and 
who it was also to whom he sent thee. The man 
that met thee is one Worldly Wiseman, and rightly is 
he so called ; partly because he savoreth only the doc- 
trine of this world (1 John, 4 : 5), (therefore he always 
goes to the town of Morality to church) ; and because 
he is of this carnal temper, therefore he seeketh to per- 
vert my ways, though right. Now there are three 
things in this man's counsel that thou must utterly 
abhor. 

1. His turning thee out of the way. 

2. His laboring to render the cross odious to thee. 

3. And his setting thy feet in that way that leadeth 
unio the administration of death. 

First, Thou must abhor his turning thee out of the 
way, yea, and thine own consenting thereto : because 
this is to reject the counsel of God for the sake of the 
counsel of a Worldly Wiseman. The Lord says, " Strive 
to enter in at the strait gate " (Luke 13 : 24), the gate 
to which I send thee ; " for strait is the gate that lead- 
eth unto life, and few there be that find it." (Matt. 7 : 
13, 14.) From this little wicket-gate, and from the way 
thereto, hath this wicked man turned thee, to the bring- 
ing of thee almost to destruction : hate, therefore, his 
turning thee out of the way, and abhor thyself for 
hearkening to him. 

Secondly, Thou must abhor his laboring to render 
the cross odious r'^to thee ; for thou art to prefer it 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 1 03 

before the treasures of Egypt. (Heb. 11: 25, 26.) 
Besides, the King of glory hath told thee, that he that 
will save his life shall lose it. And he that comes aftei 
him, and hates not his father, and mother, and wife, 
and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his 
own life also, he can not be his disciple. (Mark 8 : 38 j 
John 12 : 25 ; Matt. 10 : 39 ; Luke 14 : 26.) I say, 
therefore, for man to labor to persuade thee that that 
shall be thy death, without which, the truth hath saidt 
thou canst not have eternal life, this doctrine thoiJ 
must abhor. 

Thirdly, Thou must hate his setting of thy feet in 
the way that leadeth to the ministration of death. 
And for this thou must consider to whom he sent thee, 
and also how unable that person was to deliver thee 
from thy burden. 

He to whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name 
Legality, is the son of the bondwoman which now is. 
and is in bondage with her children (Gal. 4 : 21-27), 
and is, in a mystery, this Mount Sinai, which thou hast 
feared will fall on thy head. Now if she with her 
children are in bondage, how canst thou expect by 
them to be made free ? This Legality, therefore, is not 
able to set thee free from thy burden. No man was as 
yet ever rid of his burden by him ; no, nor ever is like 
to be : ye can not be justified by the works of the law ; 
for by the deeds of the law no man living can be rid of 
his burden. Therefore Mr. Worldly Wiseman is an 
alien, and Mr. Legality is a cheat ; and for his son 
Civility, notwithstanding his simpering looks, he is but 
a hypocrite, and can not help thee. Believe me, there 
is nothing in all this noise that thou hast heard of these 
sottish men, but a design to beguile thee of thy sal- 
vation, by turning the« from the way in which I set 
<hee. After this, Evangelist called aloud to the 



104 "^HE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

heavens for confirmation of what he had said ; and with 
that there came words and fire out of the mountain 
under which poor Christian stood, which made the hair 
of his flesh stand up. The words were pronounced ; 
" As many as are of the works of the law, are under 
the curse ; for it is written. Cursed is every one that 
continueth not in all things which are written in the 
book of the law to do them." (Gal. 3: 10). 

Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and 
began to cry out lamentably , even cursing the time in 
which he met with Mr. Worldly Wiseman ; still calling 
himself a thousand fools for hearkening to his counsel. 
He also was greatly ashamed to think that this gentle- 
man's arguments, flowing only from the flesh, should 
have the prevalency with him so far as to cause him 
to forsake the right way. This done, he applied him- 
self again to Evangelist in words and sense as foRows. 

Chr. Sir, what think you ? Is there any hope ? May 
I now go back, and go up to the wicket-gate? Shall I 
not be abandoned for this, and sent back from thence 
ashamed ? I am sorry I have hearkened to this man's 
counsel ; but may my sin be forgiven ? 

Evan. Then said Evangelist to him. Thy sin is very 
great, for by it thou hast committed two evils : thou 
hast forsaken the way that is good, to tread in for* 
bidden paths. Yet will the man at the gate receive 
thee, for he has good-will for men ; only, said he, take 
heed that thou turn not aside again, lest thou " perish 
from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little." 
,Psalm 2 : 12). 



TUE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. io$ 



THE SECOND STAGE, 

Then did Christian address himself to go back ; and 
ifivangelist, after he had kissed him, gave him one 
gmile, and bid him God speed ; so he went on with 
haste, neither spake he to any man by the way , nor if 
any man asked him, would he vouchs;ie them an 
answer. He went like one that was all the while 
treading on forbidden ground, and could by no means 
think himself safe, till again he was got into the way 
which he had left to follow Mr. Worldly Wiseman's 
counsel. So, in process of time. Christian got up to 
the gate. Now, over the gate there was written, 
** Knock, and it shall be opened unto you." (Matt. 7 • 7.) 
He knocked, therefore, more than once or twice, 
saying, 

" May I now enter here ? Will he within 
Open to sorry me, though I have been 
An undeserving rebel ? Then shall I 
Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high." 

At last there came a grave person to the gate, named 
Goodwill, who asked who was there, and whence he 
came, and what he would have. 

Chk. Here is a poor burdened sinner. I come from 
the city of Destruction, but am going to Mount Zion, 
that I may be delivered from the wrath to come. I 
would therefore, sir, since I am informed that by this 
gate is the way thither, know if you are willing to let 
me in. 

Good I am willing with all my heart, said he ; and 
with that he opened the gate. 

So when Christian was stepping in, the other gave 



biiu a pull. Then saul Clu-istian, ^Vhat iiuans that? 
The other told hiuu A Utile distance iVoiu this gate 
there is erected a sii\)ng caslle, of which r>eehebub ia 
the eaptain; from whence both he and they that are 
Nvilh him shoot arrows at those that come up to this 
gate, if haply they may die before they can enter in. 
Then said Christian, 1 rejoice and tremble. So when 
bo was got in, the man at the gate a>ked him w he 
directed him thither. 

CiiK. Evangelist bid mo come hither and knock, iis 
I did: and he said, that you, sir, would tell me what I 
must do. 

CiOOi>. An open door is set before thee, and no man 
oan shut it. 

Chu. Now I begin to reap the benetit of my 
hazards. 

Goon. Uut how is it that you came alone? 

Chr. Because none of mv neighbors saw tlu'ir 
danger as 1 si\w mine. 

GiKn>. Oid any of tliem know of your coming? 

Chk. Ves, my wife auvl children saw me t the 
fii"st, and called after me to turn again : also some of 
my neighbors stood crying and calling after me to ro» 
turn ; but I put my lingei*s in my eai-s, ami so came on 
my way. 

Good. But did none of them follow you, to pei^ 
suade you to go back ? 

OuK. Yes, both Obstinate and Pliable ; but when 
they saw that they could not prevail. Obstinate went 
railing back, but Pliable came with me a little way. 

OooD. But why did he not come through? 

Chk. We indeed came both together until we came 
lo the Slough of Despond, into the which we also 
suddenly fell. And then was uin neighbor Pliable dis- 
couraged, and would not venture larther. Wherefore, 



getting out a^^airi on the hl<]«; iHixt u-) hw own houne, 
li».- UjUI nie 1 hlioiilrJ ponhChH the brave country alone 
for him; ho he went hin way, and I came mine; he 
after Ob.Htiiiate, and I to thin ^ate. 

Ciooi>. Tlien naid Goodwill, Alan, poor man; in the 
celeHtial glory of ho little enteem wiih iiini, that he 
counteth it not worth running the hazard of a few difB- 
cuIt.ifjH to olitain it? 

Ciiu. Truly, naid Chrintian, I have naid the truth of 
Pliable; and if I hhould alno nay all the truth of rny- 
Helf, it will appear there irt no bettennent betwixt him 
and mywdf. It in true, he went back to hijj own hou»e, 
but I also turned aside to go into the way of death, be- 
ing perhuaded theieto by the carnal argument of one 
Mr. Worldly VVineman. 

(iooi>. Oh, did he light U[>on you ? What, he would 
have had you Keek for ease at the hands of Mr. Legality ! 
They are both of thern a very cheat, liut did you take 
hin counnel ? 

Chk. Yen, as far as I dur^t. I went to find out Mr. 
Legality, until I thought that the mountain that htajida 
by hin hou.se would have fallen upon my head ; where- 
fore there waH I forced to stop. 

(}()()i>. That mountain ban been the death of many, 
and will be the death of many more: it la well } -^l. es- 
caped being by it dashed in piecew. 

CiiK. Why truly I do not know what had !>ecomc 
of me there, had not Evangeli.st happily met me again 
EH I was musing in the mid.st of my dumps; but it waa 
God'rt mercy that he came to me again, for else I had 
never come liither. But now I am come, Huch a one a« 
I am, more fit indeed for death by that mountain, than 
thuH to Htand talking with my Lord. liut oh, what a 
favor is thia to me, that yet I am admitted entrance 
kere ! 



,o8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Good. We make no objections against any, notwith- 
standing all that they have done before they come 
hither ; they in nowise are cast out. (John 6 : 37.) 
And therefore, good Christian, come a little way with 
me, and I will teach thee about the way thou must go. 
Look before thee ; dost thou see this narrow way ? 
That is cha way thou must go. It was cast up by the 
patriarchs, prophets, Christ, and his apostles, and it is 
as straight as a rule can make it ; this is the way thou 
must go, 

Chr. But, said Christian, are there no turnings nor 
windings, by which a stranger may lose his way? 

Good. Yes, there are many ways butt down upon 
this, and they are crooked and wide : but thus thou 
mayest distinguish the right from the wrong, the right 
only being straight and narroWo (Matt. 7 : 14.) 

Then I saw in mrj dream, that Christian asked him 
further, if he could not help him off with his burden 
that was upon his back. For as yet he had not got rid 
thereof; nor could he by any means get it off without 
help. 

He told him, " As to thy burden, be content to bear 
it until thou comest to the place of deliverance ; for 
there it will fall from thy back of itself." 

Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to 
address himself to his journey. So the other told him, 
that by that he was gone some distance from the gate, 
he would come to the house of the Interpreter, at whose 
door he should knock, and he would show him excel- 
lent things. Then Christian took his leave of his 
friend, and he again bid him God speed. 

Then he went on till he came at the house of the 
Interpreter,* where he knocked over and over. At 
last one came to the door, and asked who was there. 

• The Holy Spirit. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 1 09 

Chr. Sir, here is a traveller, who was bid by an ac- 
quaintance of tlie good man of this house to call here 
Jor my profit ; I would therefore speak with the master 
of the house. 

So he called for the master of the house, who, after 
a little time, came to Christian, and asked him what he 
would have. 

Chr. Sir, said Christian, I am a man that am come 
from the city of Destruction, and am going to the Mount 
Zion; and I was told by the man that stands at the 
gate at the head of this way, that if I called here you 
would show me excellent things, such as would be 
helpful to me on my journey. 

Inter. Then said Interpreter, Come in ; 1 will show 
thee that which will be profitable to thee. So he com- 
manded his man to light the candle, and bid Christian 
follow him. JSo he had him into a private room, and 
bid his man open a door; the which when he had done. 
Christian saw the picture of a very grave person hang 
up against the wall ; and this was the fashion of it ; it 
had eyes lifted up to heaven, the best of books in its 
hand, the law of truth was written upon its lips, the 
world was behind its back ; it stood as if it pleaded 
with men, and a crown of gold did hang over its head. 

Chr. Then said Christian, What means this? 

Inter. The man whose picture this is, is one of a 
thousand : he can beget children (1 Cor. 4 : 15), travail 
in birth with children (Gal. 4: 19), and nurse them 
himself when they are born. And whereas thou seest 
him with his eyes lift up to heaven, the best of books 
in his hand, and the law of truth writ on his lips : it is 
to show thee, that his work is to know, and unfold dark 
things to sinners ; even as also thou seest him stand as 
if he pleaded with men. And whereas thoii seest the 
world as cast behind him. and that a crown hancfs ove? 



1 1 u THE PILGRTM*S PROGRESS. 

his head ; that is to show thee, that slighting and d^- 
spising the things that are present, for the love that he 
hath to his Master's service, he is sure in the world that 
comes next to have glory for his reward. Now, said 
ihe Interpreter, I have showed thee this picture first, 
because the man whose picture this is, is the only man 
whom the Lord of the place whither thou ait going hath 
authorized to be thy guide in all difficult places thou 
mayest meet with in the way ; wherefore take goo(il 
heed to what I have showed thee, and bear well in thy 
mind what thou hast seen, lest in thy journey thou 
meet with some that pretend to lead thee right, but 
their way goes down to death. 

Then he took him by the hand, and led him into a 
very large parlor that was full of dust, because never 
swept ; the which after he reviewed it a little while, the 
Interpreter called for a man to sweep. Now, when he 
began to sweep, the dust began so abundantly to fly 
about, that Christian had almost therewith been 
choked. Then said the Interpreter to a damsel that 
stood by, " Bring hither water, and sprinkle the room ; " 
the which when she had done, it was swept and 
cleansed with pleasure. 

Chr. Then said Christian, What means this ? 

Inter. The Interpreter answered. This parlor is 
the heart of a man that was never sanctified by the 
sweet grace of the Gospel. The dust is his original 
sin, and inward corruptions, that have defiled the whole 
man. He that began to sweep at first, is the law ; but 
she that brought water, and did sprinkle it, is the Gos- 
pel. Now whereas thou sawest, that so soon as the 
first began to sweep, the dust did so fly about that the 
room by him could not be cleansed, but that thou wast 
iilmost choked therewith ; this is to show thee, that the 
law, instead of cleansing the heart (by ^** working) from 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ftt 

sin, doth revive (Rom. 7 : 9), put strength into (1 Cor. 
15: b%)^ and increase it in the soul (Rom. 5: 20), even 
as it doth discover and forbid it ; for it doth not give 
power to subdue. Again, as thou sawest the damsel 
sprinkle the room with water, upon which it was 
cleansed with pleasure, this is to show thee, that when 
the Gospel comes in the sweet and precious influences 
thereof to the heart, then, I say, even as thou sawest 
the damsel lay the dust by sprinkling the floor with 
water, so is sin vanquished and subdued, and the sou) 
made clean tlirough the faitli of it, and consequently 
fit for the King of glory to inhabit. (John 15: 3: Eph. 
5: 26; Acts 15: 9; Rom. 16: 25, 26.) 

I saw moreover in my dream, that the Interpreter 
took him by the hand, and led him into a little room, 
where sat two little children, each one in his chair. 
The name of the eldest was Passion, and the name of 
the other Patience. Passion seemed to be much dis- 
contented, but Patience was very quiet. Then Christian 
asked, "What is the reason of the discontent of Passion?" 
The Interpreter answered, " The governor of them 
would have him stay for his best things till the be- 
ginning of the next year, but he will have all now ; but 
Patience is willing to wait." 

Then I saw that one came to Passion, and brought 
him a bag of treasure, and poured it down at his feet : 
the which he took up, and rejoiced therein, and withal 
laughed Patience to scorn. But I beheld but a while, 
and he had lavished all away, and had nothing left him 
but rags. 

Chr. Then said Christian to the Interpreter, Ex- 
pound this matter more fully to me. 

INTER. So he said, These two lads are figures; 
Passion of the men of this world, and Patience of the 
men of that which is to come ; for, as here thou seest* 



,13 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

Passion will have all now, this year, that is to say, in 
this world ; so are the men of this world : they must 
have all their good things now ; they can not stay till 
the next year, that is, until the next world, for their 
portion of good. That proverb, " A bird in the hand 
is worth two in the bush," is of more authority with 
them than are all the divine testimonies of the good 
of the world to come. But as thou sawest that he had 
quickly lavished all away, and had presently left him 
nothing but rags, so will it be with all such men at the 
end of this world. 

Chr. Then said Christian, Now I see that Patience 
has the best wisdom, and that upon many accounts. 
1. Because he stays for the best things. 2. And also 
because he will have the glory of his, when the other 
has nothing but rags. 

Inter. Nay, you ma}^ add another, to wit, the glory 
of the next world will never wear out ; but these are 
suddenly gone. Therefore Passion had not so much 
reason to laugh at Patience because he had his good 
things first, as Patience will have to laugh at Passion 
because he had his best things last, for first must give 
place to last, because last must have his time to come : 
but last gives place to nothing, for there is not another 
to succeed. He, therefore, that hath his portion first, 
mu«t needs have a time to spend it ; but he that hath 
his portion last, must have it lastingly : therefore it vs 
said of Dives, " In thy lifetime thou receivedst thy 
good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but 
now he is comforted, and thou art tormented." (Luke 
16: 25.) 

Chr. Then I perceive it is not best to covet things 
that are now, but to wait for things to come. 

Inter. You say truth : for the things that are seea 
are temporal, but the things that are not seen are 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. „• 

eternal. (2 Cor. 4: 18.) But though this be so, yet 
since things present and our fleshy appetite are such 
near neighbors one to another; and again, because 
things to come and carnal sense are such strangers one 
to another ; therefore it is, that the first of these 
suddenly fall into amity, and that distance is so con- 
tinued between the second. 

Then I saw in my dream, that the Interpreter took 
Christian by the hand, and led him into a place where 
was a fire burning against a wall, and one standing by 
»t, always casting much water upon it to quench it ; 
yet did the fire burn higher and hotter. 
Then said Christian, What means this? 
The Interpreter answered, This fire is the work of 
grace that is wrought in the heart ; he that casts water 
upon it, to extinguish and put it out, is the devil : but 
in that thou seest the fire, notwithstanding, burn higher 
and hotter, thou shalt also see the reason of that. So 
he had him about to the back side of the wall, where he 
saw a man with a vessel of oil in his hand, of the which 
he did also continually cast (but secretly) into the fire. 
Then said Christian, What means this? 
The Interpreter answered. This is Christ, who con- 
tinually, with the oil of his grace, maintains the work 
already begun in the heart ; by the means of which, 
notwithstanding what the devil can do, the souls of his 
people prove gracious still. (2 Cor. 12 : 9.) And in 
that thou sawest that the man stood behind the wall to 
maintain the fire ; this is to teach thee, that it is hard 
for the tempted to see how this work of grace is main- 
tained in the soul. 

I saw also, that the Interpreter took him again by 
the hand, and led him into a pleasant place, where 
was built a stately palace, beautiful to behold ; at the 
sight of which Christian was greatly delighted. K^ 



I X 4 THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 

saw also upon the top thereof certain persons walking, 
who were clothed all in gold. 

Then said Christian may we go in thither ? 

Then the Interpreter took him, and led him up to- 
wards the door of the palace ; and behold, at the door 
stood a great company of men, as desirous to go in, 
but durst not. There also sat a man at a little dis- 
tance from the door, at a table-side, with a book and 
his inkhorn before him, to take the names of them 
that should enter therein ; he saw also that in the 
doorway stood many men in armor to keep it, being 
resolved to do to the men that would enter, what hurt 
and mischief they could. Now was Christian some- 
what in amaze. At last when every man started 
back for fear of the armed men, Christian saw a man 
of a very stout countenance come up to the man that 
sat there to write, saying, " Set down my name, sir ; " 
the which when he had done, he saw the man draw his 
sword, and put a helmet on his head, and rush towards 
the door upon the armed men, who laid upon him with 
deadly force ; but the man, not at all discouraged, fell 
to cutting and hacking most fiercely. So after he had 
received and given many wounds to those that at- 
tempted to keep him out (Matt. 11 : 12 ; Acts 14 : 22), 
he cut his way through them all, and pressed forward 
into the palace ; at which there was a pleasant voice 
heard from those that were within, even of those that 
walked upon the top of the palace, saying, 

** Come in, come in, 

Eternal glory thou shalt win." 

So he went in, and was clothed with such garments as 
they, iiien Christian smiled, and said, I think verily 
I know the meaning of this. 

Now, said Christian, let me go hence. Nay; «»*»v, 
said the Interpreter, till I have showed thee a littt. 



THE PIL GRIM 'S FRO CRESS, 1 1 5 

more, and after that thou shalt go on thy way. So he 
took him by the hand again, and led him into a very 
dark room, where there sat a man in an iron cage. 

Now the man, to look on, seemed very sad ; he sat 
with his eyes looking down to the ground, his hands 
folded together, and he sighed as if he would break his 
heart. Then said Christian, What means this? At 
which the Interpreter bid him talk with the man. 

Then said Christian to the man, What art thou ? 
The man answered, I am what I was not once. 

Chr. What wast thou once ? 

Man. The man said, I was once a fair and flourish- 
ing professor (Luke 8 : 13), both in mine own eyes, and 
also in the eyes of others : I once was, as I thought, 
fair for the celestial city, and had then even joy at the 
thoughts that I should get thither. 

Chr. Well, but what art thou now ? 

Man. I am now a man of despair, and am shut up 
in it, as in this iron cage. I cannot get out ; oh, now I 
cannot ! 

Chr. But how camest thou into this condition ? 

Man. I left off to watch and be sober : I laid the 
reins upon the neck of my lusts ; I sinned against the 
light of the world, and the goodness of God ; I have 
grieved the Spirit, and he is gone ; I tempted the devil, 
and he is come to me ; I have provoked God to anger, 
and he has left me : I have so hardened my heart, that 
I cannot repent. 

Then said Christian to the Interpreter, But is there 
no hope for such a man as this ? Ask him, said the In- 
terpreter. 

Chr. Then said Christian, Is there no hope, but you 
must be kept in the iron cage of despair ? 

Man. No, none at all. 

Chr. Why, the Son of the Blessed is very pitiful. 



Il6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Man. I have crucified him to myself afresh (Heb. 
6: 6); I have despised his person (Luke 19: 14); 1 
have despised his righteousness ; I have counted hia 
blood an unholy thing ; I have done despite to the spirit 
of grace (Heb. 10 : 29) : therefore I have shut myself 
out of all the promises, and there now remains to me 
nothing but threatenings, dreadful threatenings, faithful 
threatenings of certain judgment and fiery indignation, 
which shall devour me as an adversary. 

Chr. For what did you bring yourself into this con- 
dition ? 

Man. For the lusts, pleasures, and profits of this 
world ; in the enjoyment of which I did then promise 
myself much delight : but now every one of those 
things also bite me, and gnaw me like a burning worm. 

Chr. But canst thou not now repent and turn ? 

Man. God hath denied me repentance. His word 
gives me no encouragement to believe ; yea, himself 
hath shut me up in this iron cage ; nor can all the men 
in the world let me out. Oh, eternity ! eternity ! how 
shall I grapple with the misery that I must meet with 
in eternity ? 

Inter. Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let 
this man's misery be remembered by thee, and be an 
everlasting caution to thee. 

Chr. Well, said Christian, this is fearful ! God help 
me to watch and to be sober, and to pray that I may 
shun the cause of this man's misery. Sir, is it not time 
for me to go on my way now ? 

Inter. Tarry till I show thee one thing more, and 
then thou shait go on thy way. 

So he took Christian by the hand again and led him 
into a chamber where there was one rising out of bed ; 
and as he put on his raiment, he shook and trembled. 
Then said Christian, Why doth this man thus tremble ? 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. H7 

The Interpreter then bid him tell to ^Christian the rea- 
son of his so doing. 

So he began, and said, " This night, as I was in m} 
sleep, I dreamed, and behold the heavens grew exceed- 
ing black ; also it thundered and lightened in most 
fearful wise, that it put me into an agony. So I looked 
up in my dream, and saw the clouds rack at an unusual 
rate ; upon which I heard a great sound of a trumpet, 
and saw also a man sitting upon a cloud, attended with 
the thousands of heaven: they were all in flaming 
fire ; also the heavens were in a burning flame. I heard 
then a voice, saying, ' Arise, ye dead, and come to judg- 
ment,* And with that the rocks rent, the graves 
opened, and the dead that were therein came forth : 
some of them were exceeding glad, and looked upward ; 
and some sought to hide themselves under the moun- 
tains. Then I saw the man that sat upon the cloud 
open the book, and bid the world draw near. Yet 
there was, by reason of a fierce flame that issued out 
and came from before him, a convenient distance be- 
tween him and them, as between the judge and the 
prisoners at the bar. (1 Cor. 15 ; 1 Thess. 4 : 16 ; Jude 
15. John 5 : 28, 29 ; 2 Thess. 1 : 8-10 ; Rev. 20 : 11-14; 
Isa. 26: 21; Micah 7: 16,17; Psa. 5: 4; 50: 1-3; 
Mai. 3 : 2, 3 ; Dan. 7 : 9, 10.) I heard it also pro- 
claimed to them that attended on the man that sat on 
the cloud, * Gather together the tares, the chaff, and 
stubble, and cast them into the burning lake.' (Matt. 
3 : 12 ; 18 : 30 ; 24 : 30 ; Mai. 4 : 1.) And with that 
the bottomless pit opened, just whereabout I stood ; out 
of the mouth of which there came, in an abundant 
manner, smoke, and coals of fire, with hideous noises. 
It was also said to the same persons, ' Gather my wheat 
into the garner.' (Luke 3 : 17.) And with that I saw 
many catched up and carried away into the clouds, but 



J ^3 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

I was left behind. (1 Thess. 4 : 16, 17.) I also sought 
to hide myself, but I could not, for the man that sat 
upon the cloud still kept his eye upon me ; my sins 
also came into my mind, and my conscience did accuse 
me on every side. (Rom. 2 : 14, 15.) Upon this I 
awakened from my sleep." 

Chr. But what was it that made you so afraid of 
this sight ? 

Man. Why, I thought that the day of judgment was 
come, and that 1 was not ready for it : but this fright- 
ened me most, that the angels gathered up several, and 
left me behind ; also the pit of hell opened her mouth 
just where I stood. My conscience, too, afflicted me ; 
and, as I thought, the Judge had always his eye upon 
me, showing indignation in his countenance. 

Then said the Interpreter to Christian, " Hast thou 
considered all these things? 

Chr. Yes, and they put me in hope and fear. 

Inter. Well, keep all things so in thy mind, that 
they may be as a goad in thy sides, to prick thee for- 
ward in the way thou must go. Then Christian began 
to gird up his loins, and to address himself to his jour- 
ney. Then said the Interpreter, " The Comforter be 
always with thee, good Christian, to guide thee in the 
■way that leads to the city." So Christian went on his 
way, saying, 

"Here I have seen things rare and profitable, 
Things pleasant, dreadful, things to make me stable 
In what I have begun to take in hand : 
Then let me think on them, and understand 
Wherefore they showed me were, and let me be 
Thankful, O good Interpreter, to thee." 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ng 



THE THIRD STAGE. 

Now I saw in my dream, that the highway up which 
Christian was to go, was fenced on either side with a 
wall, and that wall was called Salvation. (Isaiah 26 : 1.) 
Up this way, therefore, did burdened Christian run, 
but not without great difficulty, because of the load on 
his back. 

He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascend- 
ing ; and upon that place stood a cross, and a little 
below, in the bottom, a sepulchre. So I saw in my 
dream, that just as Christian came up with the cross, 
his burden loosed from off his shoulders, and fell from 
off his back, and began to tumble, and so continued 
to do till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where 
it fell in, and I saw it no more. 

Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said 
with a merry heart, " He hath given me rest by his 
sorrow, and life by his death." Then he stood still a 
while, to look and wonder ; for it was very surprising 
to him that the sight of the cross should thus ease him 
of his burden. He looked, therefore, and looked again, 
even till the springs that were in his head sent the 
waters down his cheeks. (Zech. 12 : 10.) Now as he 
stood looking and weeping, behold, three Shining Ones 
came to him, and saluted him with, " Peace be to thee." 
So the first said to him, " Thy sins be forgiven thee " 
(Mark 2:5); the second stripped him of his rags, and 
clothed him with change of raiment (Zech. 3:4); the 
third also set a mark on his forehead (Eph. 1 : 13), and 
gave him a roll with a seal upon it, which he bid him 
look on as he ran, and that he should give it in at the 



120 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 



celestial gate: so they went their way. Then Christiaii 
gave three leaps for joy, and went on singing 

** Thus far did I come laden with my sin, 
Nor could aught ease the grief that I was 
Till I came hither. What a place is this I 
Must here be the beginning of my bliss ? 
Must here the burden fall from off my back ? 
Must here the strings that bound it to me crack ? 
Blest cross I blest sepulchre ! blest rather be 
The man that there was put to shame for me I " 

I saw then in my dream, that he went on thus, 
even until he came at the bottom, where he saw, a little 
out of the way, three men fast asleep, with fetters upon 
their heels. The name of the one was Simple, of an- 
other Sloth, and of the third Presumption. 

Christian then seeing them lie in this case, went to 
them, if peradventure he might awake them, and cried, 
You are like them that sleep on the top of a mast (Pro v. 
23 : 34), for the Dead Sea is under you, a gulf that hath 
no bottom : awake, therefore, and come away ; be will- 
ing also, and I will help you off with your irons. He 
also told them. If he that goeth about like a roaring 
lion (1 Pet. 5: 8) comes by, you will certainly become a 
prey to his teeth. With that they looked upon him, 
and began to reply in this sort ; Simple said, I see no 
danger ; Sloth said. Yet a little more sleep ; and Pre- 
sumption said. Every tub must stand upon its own bot- 
tom. And so they lay down to sleep again, and Chris- 
tian went on his way. 

Yet he was troubled to think that men in that 
danger should so little esteem the kindness of him that 
so freely offered to help them, both by awakening of 
them, counselling of them, and proffering to help them 
off with their irons. And as he was troubled there- 
about, he espied two men coming tumbling over the 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 1 2 1 

wall, on the left hand of the narrow way ; and they 
made up apace to him. The name of the one was For- 
malist, and the name of the other Hypocrisy. So, as I 
said, they drew up unto him, who thus entered with 
them into discourse. 

Chr. Gentlemen, whence came you, and whither 
do you go ? 

Form, and Hyp. We were born in the land of Vain- 
glory, and are going, for praise, to Mount Zion. 

Chr. Why came you not in at the gate which stand- 
eth at the beginning of the way ? Know ye not that 
it is written, that " he that cometh not in by the door, 
but climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and 
a robber?" (John 10: 1.) 

Form, and Hyp. They said, that to go to the gate 
for entrance was by all their countrj^men counted too 
far about ; and that therefore their usual way was to 
make a short cut of it, and to climb over the wall, as 
they had done. 

Chr. But will it not be counted a trespass against 
the Lord of the city whither we are bound, thus to 
violate his revealed will ? 

Form, and Hyp. They told him, that as for that, 
he needed not to trouble his head thereabout ; for Avhat 
they did they had custom for, and could produce, if 
need were, testimony that would witness it for more 
than a thousand years. 

Chr. But, said Christian, will you stand a trial at 
law? 

Form, and Hyp. They told him, that custom, it 
being of so long standing as above a thousand years, 
would doubtless now be admitted as a thing legal by an 
impartial judge : and besides, said they, if we get into 
the way, what matter is it which way we get in ? If 
we are in, we are in : thou art but in the way, who, as 



12 2 THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 

we perceive, came in at the gate ; and we also are in 
the way, that came tumbling over the wall : wherein 
now is thy condition better than ours? 

Chr. I walk by the rule of my Master : you walk 

by the rude working of your fancies. You are counted 

thieves already by the Lord of the way : therefore I 

\ doubt you will not be found true men at the end of the 

■ way. You come in by yourselves without his direction, 

and shall go out by yourselves without his mercy. 

To this they made him but little answer ; only they 
bid him look to himself. Then I saw that they went 
on, every man in his way, without much conference one 
with another, save that these two men told Christian, 
that as to laws and ordinances, they doubted not but 
that they should as conscientiously do them as he. 
Therefore, said they, we see not wherein thou differest 
from us, but by the coat that is on thy back, which was, 
as we trow, given thee by some of thy neighbors, to 
hide the shame of thy nakedness. 

Chr. By laws and ordinances you will not be 
saved, since you came not in by the door. (Gal. 2 : 16.) 
And as for this coat that is on my back, it was given 
me by the Lord of the place whither I go ; and that, as 
you say, to cover my nakedness with. And I take it 
as a token of kindness to me ; for I had nothing but 
rags before. And besides, thus I comfort myself as I 
go. Surely, think I, when I come to the gate of the 
city, the Lord thereof will know me for good, since I 
have his coat on my back ; a coat that he gave me 
freely in the day that he stripped me of my rags. I 
have, moreover, a mark in my forehead, of which per- 
haps you have takee no notice, which one of my Lord's 
most intimate associates fixed there in the day that my 
burden fell off my shoulders. I will tell you, more-, 
over, that I had then given me a roll sealed, to com- 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 133' 

fort me by reading as I go on the way ; I was also bid 
to give it in at the celestial gate, in token of my cer- 
tain sfoinor ill after it : all which thins^s I doubt vou want, 
and want them because you came not in at the gate. 

To these things they gave him no answer ; only they 
looked upon each other, and laughed. Then I saw 
that they went all on, save that Christian kept before, 
who had no more talk but with himself, and that some- 
times sighingly, and sometimes comfortably : also he 
would be often reading in the roll that one of the Shin- 
ing Ones gave him, by which he was refreshed. 

I beheld then, that they all went on till they came 
to the foot of the hill Difficulty, at the bottom of which 
there was a spring. There were also in the same place 
two other ways besides that which came straight from 
the gate : one turned to the left hand, and the other to 
the right, at the bottom of the hill ; but the narrow 
way lay right up the hill, and the name of the going 
up the side of the hill is called Difficulty. Christian 
now went to the spring (Isa. 49: 10), and drank there- 
of to refresh himself, and then began to go up the hill, 
saying, 

*' The hill, though high, I covet to ascend; 
The diOiciilty will not me offend ; 
For I i^erceive the way to life lies here : 
Come, pluck up heart, let's neither faint nor fear ; 
Better, though difficult, the right way to go, 
Than wrong, though easy, where the end is woe." 

The other two also came to the foot of the hill. But 
when they saw that the hill was steep and high, and 
that there were two other ways to go ; and supposing 
also that these two ways might meet again with that 
up which Christian went, on the other side of the hill ; 
therefore they were resolved to go in those ways. Now 
the name of one of those ways was Danger, and the 



124 



FHE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



name of the other Destruction. So the one took the 
way which is called Danger, which led him into a great 
wood ; and the other took directly up the way to 
Destruction, which led him into a wide field, full of 
dark mountains, where he stumbled and fell, and rose 
no more. 

I looked then after Christian, to see him go up the 
hill, where I perceived he fell from running to going, 
and from going to clambering upon his hands and his 
knees, because of the steepness of the place. Now 
about the midway to the top of the hill was a pleasant 
arbor, made by the Lord of the hill for the refresh- 
ment of weary travellers. Thither, therefore, Christian 
got, where also he sat down to rest him : then he pulled 
his roll out of his bosom, and read therein to his com- 
fort ; he also now began afresh to take a review of the 
coat or garment that was given to him as he stood by 
the cross. Thus pleasing himself awhile, he at last fell 
into a slumber, and thence into a fast sleep, which de- 
tained him in that place until it was almost night ; and 
in his sleep his roll fell out of his hand. Now, as he 
was sleeping, there came one unto him, and awaked 
him, saying, " Go to the ant, thou sluggard ; consider 
her ways, and be wise." (Prov. 6 : 6.) And with that, 
Christian suddenly started up, and sped him on his 
way, and went apace till he came to the top of the hill. 

Now when he was got up to the top of the hill, 
there came two men running amain ; the name of the 
one was Timorous, and of the other Mistrust : to whom 
Christian said, Sirs, what's the matter ? you run the 
wrong way. Timorous answered, that they were going 
to the city of Zion, and had got up that difficult place : 
but, said he, the farther we go, the more danger we 
meet with ; wherefore we turned, and are going back 
again. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 12 r 

Yes, said Mistrust, for just before us lie a couple of 
lions in the way, whether sleeping or waking we know 
not ; and we eould not think, if we came within reach, 
but they would presently pull us in pieces. 

Chr. Then said Christian, You make me afraid; 
but whither shall I fly to be safe ? If I go back to my 
own country, that is prepared for fire and brimstone, 
and I shall certainly perish there ; if I can get to the 
celestial city, I am sure to be in safety there : I must 
venture. To go back is nothing but death : to go for- 
ward is fear of death and life everlasting beyond it : I 
will yet go forward. So Mistrust and Timorous ran 
down the hill, and Christian went on his way. But 
thinking again of what he had heard from the men, he 
felt in his bosom for his roll, that he might read there- 
in and be comforted ; but he felt, and found it not. 
Then was Christian in great distress, and knew not 
what to do ; for he wanted that which used to relieve 
him, and that which should have been his pass into the 
celestial city. Here, therefore, he began to be much 
perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he be- 
thought himself that he had slept in the arbor that is 
on the side of the hill ; and falling down upon his 
knees, he asked God forgiveness for that foolish act, 
and then went back to look for his roll. But all the 
way he went back, who can sufficiently set forth the 
sorrow of Christian's heart? Sometimes he sighed, 
sometimes he wept, and oftentimes he chid himself for 
being so foolish to fall asleep in that place, which was 
erected only for a little refreshment from his weari- 
ness. Thus therefore, he went back, carefully looking 
on this side and on that, all the way as he went, if 
happily he might find his roll, that had been his com- 
fort so many times on his journey. He went thus till 
he came again within sight of the arbor where he sat 



126 '^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

and slept ; but that sight renewed his sorrovv the more, 
by bringing again, even afresh, his evil of sleeping unto 
his mind. (Rev. 2: 4; 1 Thess. 5: ^-%.) Thus, 
therefore, he now w^ent on, bewailing his sinful sleep, 
saying. Oh, wretched man that I am, that I should sleep 
in the daytime ! that I should sleep in the midst of 
difficulty ! that I should so indulge the flesh as to use 
that rest for ease to my flesh which the Lord of the hill 
hath erected only for the relief of the spirits of pil- 
grims ! How many steps have I taken in vain ! Thus 
it happened to Israel ; for their sin they were sent back 
again by the way of the Red Sea; and I am made to 
tread those steps with sorrow, which I might have trod 
with delight, had it not been for this sinful sleep. 
How far might I have been on my way by this time I 
I am made to tread those steps thrice over, which I 
needed not to have trod but once: yea, now also I am 
like to be benighted, for the day is almost spent. Oh, 
that I had not slept ! 

Now by this time he was come to the arbor again, 
where for a while he sat down and wept ; but at last 
( IS Providence would have it), looking sorrowfully down 
under the settle, there he espied his roll, the which he 
with trembling and haste catched up, and put it into 
his bosom. But who can tell how joyful this man was 
when he had gotten his roll again? For this roll was 
the assurance of his life, and acceptance at the desired 
haven. Therefore he laid it up in his bosom, gave 
thanks to God for directing his eye to the place where 
it lay, and with joy and tears betook himself again to 
his journey. But oh, how nimbly did he go up the 
rest of the hill ! Yet before he got up, the sun went 
down upon Christian ; and this made him again recall 
the vanity of his sleeping to his remembrance ; and 
thus he again began to condole with himself: Oh, thou 



THE PIT. GRIM 'S P "^ OGRESS. 1 2 7 

sinful sleep ! how for thy sake am I like to be benighted 
in my journey I I must walk without the sun, darkness 
must cover the path of my feet, and I must hear the 
noise of the doleful creatures, because of my sinful 
sleep ! Now also he remembered the story that Mis- 
trust and Timorous told him of, how they were fright 
ened with the sight of the lions. Then said Christian 
to himself again, These beasts range in the night for 
their prey , and if they should meet with me in the 
dark, how should I shift them ? how should I escape 
being by them torn in pieces? Thus he went on his 
way. But while he was bewailing his unhappy mis- 
carriage, he lift up his eyes, and behold, there was a 
very stately palace before him, the name of which was 
Beautiful, and it stood by the highway -side. 

So I saw in my dream that he made haste, and went 
forward, that if possible lie might get lodging there. 
Now before he had gone far, he entered into a very 
narrow passage, which was about a furlong off the 
Porter's lodge ; and looking very narrowly before him 
as he went, he espied two lions in the way. Now, 
thought he, I see the dangers that Mistrust and 
Timorous were driven back by. (The lions were 
chained, but he saw not the chains). Then he was 
afraid, and thought also himself to go back after them ; 
for he thought nothing but death was before him. But 
the Porter at the lodge, whose name is Watchful, per- 
ceiving that Christian made a halt, as if he would go 
back, cried unto him, saying, is thy strength so small ? 
(Mark 4 : 40). Fear not the lions, for they are chained, 
and are placed therg for trial of faith where it is, and 
for discovery of those that have none : keep in the 
naidst of the path, and no hurt shall come unto thee. 

Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of 
the lions, but taking good heed to the directions of 



128' THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

the Porter ; he heard them roar, but they did him no 
harm. Then he clapped his hands, and went on till 
he came and stood before the gate where the Porter 
was. Then said Christian to the Porter, Sir, what 
house is this ? and may I lodge here to-night ? The 
Porter answered, This house was built by the Lord of 
the hill, and he built it for the relief and security of 
pilgrims. The porter also asked whence he was, and 
whither he was going. 

Chr. I am come from the city of Destruction, and 
am going to Mount Zion : but because the sun is now 
set, I desire, if I may, to lodge here to-night. 

Port. What is your name ? 

Chr. My name is now Christian, but my name at 
the first was Graceless : I came of the race of Japheth, 
wh:>m God will persuade to dwell in the tents of Shem. 
(Gen. 9: 27). 

Port. But how does it happen that you come so 
late ? The sun is set. 

Chr. I had been here sooner, but that, wretched 
man that I am, I slept in the arbor that stands on 
the hillside ! Nay, I had, notwithstanding that, been 
here much sooner, but that in my sleep I lost my 
evidence, and came without it to the brow of the hill ; 
and then feeling for it, and not finding it, I was forced 
with sorrow of heart to go back to the place where I 
slept my sleep, where I found it ; and now I am 
come. 

Port. Well, I will call out one of the virgins oi 
his place, who will, if she likes your talk, bring you in 
to the rest of the family, according to the rules of the 
house. So Watchful the porter rang a bell, at the 
sound of which came out of the door of the house a 
grave and beautiful damsel, named Discretion, and 
asked why she was called. 



7^HE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 1 29 

The Porter answered, This man is on a journey 
from the city of Destruction to Mount Zion ; but 
being weary and benighted, he asked me if he might 
lodge here to-night : so I told him I would call for 
thee, who, after discourse had with him, mayest do as 
seemeth thee good, even according to the law of the 
house. 

Then she asked him whence he was, and whither he 
was going : and he told her. She asked him, also, how 
he got into the way; and he told her. Then she asked 
him what he had seen and met with in the way, and 
he told her. And at last she asked his name. So he 
said. It is Christian ; and I have so much the more a 
desire to lodge here to-night, because, by what I per- 
ceive, this place was built by the Lord of the hill for 
the relief and security of pilgrims. So she smiled, but 
the water stood in her eyes ; and, after a little pause, 
she said, I will call forth two or three more of the 
family. So she ran to the door, and called out 
Prudence, Piety, and Charity, who, after a little more 
discourse with him, had him into the family ; and 
many of them meeting him at the threshold of the 
house, said Come in, thou blessed of the Lord ; this 
house was built bv the Lord of the hill on purpose to 
entertain such pilgrims in. Then he bowed his head, 
and followed them into the house. So when he was 
come in and sat down, they gave him something to 
drink, and consented together that, until supper was 
ready, some of them should have some particular dis- 
course with Christian, for the best improvement of 
time ; and they appointed Piety, Prudence, and Charity 
to discourse with him : and thus they began. 

Piety. Come, good Christian, since we have been 
80 loving to you as to receive you into our house this 
night, let us, if perhaps we may better ourselves 



j^Q THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

thereby, talk with you of all things that have happened 
to you in your pilgrimage. 

Chr. With a very good will ; and I am glad that 
you are so well disposed. 

Piety. What moved you at first to betake }'ourself 
to a pilgrim's life ? 

Chr. I was driven out of my native country by a 
dreadful sound that was in mine ears , to wit, that 
unavoidable destruction did attend me, if I abode in 
that place where I was. 

Piety. But how did it happen that you came out of 
your country this way ? 

Chr. It was as God would have it ; for when I was 
under the fear of destruction, I did not know whither 
to go ; but by chance there came a man, even to me, 
as I was trembling and weeping, whose name is 
Evangelist, and he directed me to the wicket-gate, 
which else I should never have found, and so set me 
into the way that hath led me directly to this house. 

Piety. But did you not come by the house of the 
Interpreter ? 

Che. Yes, and did see such things there, the re- 
membrance of which will stick by me as long as I live, 
especially three things : to wit, how Christ, in despite 
of Satan, maintains his work of grace in the heart ; how 
the man had sinned himself quite out of hopes of God's 
mercy ; and also the dream of him that thought in his 
sleep the day of judgment was come. 

Piety. Why, did you hear him tell his dream ? 

Chr. Yes, and a dreadful one it was, I thought : it 
made my heart ache as he was telling of it, but yet I am 
glad I heard it. 

Piety. Was this all you saw at the house of the In- 
terpreter ? 

Ohr. No ; he took me, and had me where he showed 



THE iTLGRIM'S PROGRESS. I^I 

me a stately palace, and how the people were clad m 
gold that were in it ; and how there came a venturous 
man, and cut his way through the armed men that stood 
in the door to keep him out; and how he was bid to 
come in and win eternal glory. Methought those 
things did ravish my heart. I would have stayed at 
that good man's house a twelvemonth, but that I knew 
I had farther to go. 

Piety. And what saw you else in the way? 

Chr. Saw? Why, I went but a little farther, and I 
saw One, as I thought in my mind, hang bleeding upon 
a tree ; and the very sight of him made my burden fall 
o£P my back ; for I groaned under a very heavy burden, 
but then it fell down from off me. It was a strange 
thing to me, for I never saw such a thing before : yea, 
and while I stood looking up (for then I could not for- 
bear looking), three Shining Ones came to me. One 
of them testified that my sins were forgiven me ; 
another stripped me of my rags and gave me this broid- 
ered coat which you see ; and the third set the m»ark 
which you see in my forehead, and gave me this sealed 
roil (and with that he plucked it out of his bosom). 

Piety. But you saw more than this, did you not ? 

Chr. The things that I have told you were the best . 
yet some other matters I saw, as, namely, I saw three 
men — Simple, Sloth, and Presumption — lie asleep, a lit- 
tle out of the way, as I came, with irons upon their 
heels ; but do you think I could awake them ? I also 
saw Formality and Hypocrisy come tumbling over the 
wall, to go, as they pretended, to Zion ; but they were 
quickly lost, even as I myself did tell them, but they 
would not believe. But, above all, I found it hard 
work to get up this hill, and as hard to come by the 
lions' mouths ; and, truly, if it had not been for the 
good man, the porter that stands at the gate, I do not 



132 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

know but that, after all, I might have gone backagam^ 
but I thank God I am here, and thank you for receiv- 
ing me. 

Then Prudence thought good to ask him a few 
questions, and desired his answer to them. 

Pru. Do you not think sometimes of the country 
from whence you came? 

Chr. Yea, but with much shame and detestation. 
Truly, if I had been mindful of that country from 
whence I came out, I might have had opportunity to 
have returned ; but now I desire a better country, that 
is a heavenly one. (Heb. 11 : 15, 16.) 

Prit. Do you not yet bear away with you some of 
the things that then you were conversant withal ? 

Chr. Yes, but greatly against my will ; especially 
my inward and carnal cogitations, with which all my 
countrymen, as well as myself, were delighted. But 
now all those things are my grief ; and might I but 
choose mine own things, I would choose never to think 
of those things more : but when I would be a doing 
that which is best, that which is worst is with me. 
(Rom. 7 : 15, 21.) 

Pru. Do you not find sometimes as if those things 
were vanquished, which at other times are your per- 
plexity? 

Chr. Yes, but that is but seldom; but they are 
to me golden hours in which such things happen to me. 

Pru. Can you remember by what means you find 
your annoyances at times as if they were vanquished ? 

Chr. Yes : when I think what I saw at the cross, 
that will do it ; and when I look upon my broidered 
coat, that will do it ; and when I look into the roll that 
I carry ia my bosom, that will do it ; and when my 
thoughts wax warm about whither I am going, that will 
do it. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



13: 



Pru. And what is it that makes you so desirous to 
go to Mount Zion? 

Chr. Why, there I hope to see Him alive that did 
hang dead on the cross ; and there I hope to be rid of 
all those things that to this day are in me an annoyance 
to me : there they say there is no death (Isa. 25 : 8 ; 
Rev. 21 : 4) ; and there I shall dwell with such com- 
pany as I like best. For, to tell you the truth, I love 
Him because I was by Him eased of my burden ; and I 
liim weary of my inward sickness. I would fain be where 
I shall die no more, and with the company that shall 
continually cry, Holy^ ^oly^ holy. 

Then said Charity to Christian, Have you a family ? 
Are you a married man ? 

Chr. I have a wife and four small children. 

Char. And why did you not bring them along with 
you? 

Chr. Then Christian wept, and said, Oh. how wil- 
lingly would I have done it I but tkey were all of them 
utterly averse to my going on pilgrimage. 

Char. But you should have talked to them, and 
have endeavored to show them the danger of staying 
behind. 

Chr. So I did ; and told them also what God had 
shown to me of the destruction of our city ; but I 
seemed to them as one that mocked, and they believed 
me not. (Gen. 19 : 14.) 

Char. And did you pray to God that he would 
bless your counsel to them ? 

Chr. Yes, and that with much affection : for you 
must think that my wife and poor children were very 
dear to me. 

Char. But did you tell them of your own sorrow, 
and fear of destruction ? for I suppose that destruction 
was visible enough t-o you. 



134 THE PILGRIM'^ PROGRESS. 

Chr. >es, over, and over, and over. They might 
also see my fears in my countenance, in my tears, and 
also in my trembling under the apprehension of the 
judgment that did hang over our heads ; but all was 
not sufficient to prevail with them to come with me. 

Char. But what could they say for themselves, why 
they came not ? 

Chr. Why, my wife was afraid of losing this world, 
and my children were given to the foolish delights of 
youth ; so, what by one thing, and what by another, 
they left me to wander in this manner alone. 

Char. But did you not with your vain life, damp 
all that you, by words, used by way of persuasion to 
bring them away with you ? 

Chr. Indeed, I cannot commeno: my life, for I am 
conscious to myself of many failings therein. I know 
also, that a man, by his conversation, may soon over- 
throw what, by argument or persuasion, he doth labor 
to fasten upon others for their good. Yet this I can 
say, I was very wary of giving them occasion, by any 
unseemly action, to make them averse to going on 
pilgrimage. Yea, for this very thing they would tell 
me I was too precise, and that I denied myself of things 
(for their sakes) in which the]^ saw no evil. Nay, I 
thipk I may say, that if what they saw in me did hinder 
them, it was my great tenderness in sinning against 
God, or of doing any wrong to my neighbor. 

Char. Indeed, Cain hated his brother, because his 
own works were evil, and his brother's righteous (1 
John, 3 . 12 ) ; and if tliy wife and children have been 
offended with thee for this, they thereby show them- 
selves to be implacable to good ; thou hast delivered thy 
soul from their blood. (Ezek. 3 :19.) 

Now T saw in my dream, that thus they sat talking 
together until supper was ready. So when they had 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 135 

TTiaae ready, they sat down to meat. Now the table was 
furnished with fat things, and with wine that was well 
refined ; and all their talk at the table was about the 
Lord of the hill ; as, namely, about what he had done, 
and wherefore he did what he did, and why he had 
builded that house , and by what they said, I per- 
ceived that he had been a great warrior, and had fought ^ 
with and slain him that had the power of death (Heb. ; 
2 : 14, 15) ; but not without great danger to himself, 
which made me love him the more. 

For, as they said, and as I believe, said Christian, 
he did it with the loss of much blood. But that which 
put the glory of grace into all he did, was, that he did 
it out of pure love to his country. And besides, there 
were some of them of the household that said they 
had been and spoke with him since he did die on 
the cross ; and the}^ have attested that they had it from 
his own lips, that he is such a lover of poor pilgrims, 
that the like is not to be found from the east to the 
west. They, moreover, gave an instance of what they 
affirmed ; and that was, he had stripped himself of his 
glory that he might do this for the poor ; and that 
they heard him say and affirm, that he would not 
dwell in the mountain of Zion alone. They said, 
moreover, that he had made many pilgrims princes, 
though by nature they were beggars born, and their 
original had been the dunghill. (1 Sam. 2:8; Psa. 
113 : 7.) 

Thus they discoursed together till late at night ; 
and after they had committed themselves to their Lord 
for protection, they betook themselves to rest. The 
pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose win- 
dow opened towards the sun-rising. The name of the 
chamber was Peace, where he slept till break of day, and 
then he awoke and sang. 



136 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

' Where am I now ? Is this the love and care 
Of Jesus for the men that pilgrims are, 
Thus to provide that I should be forgiven, 
And dwell already the next door to heaven i " 

So in the morning they all got up ; and, after some 
more discourse, they told him that he should not depart 
till they had shown him the rarities of that place. 
And first the}^ had him into the study, where they 
showed him records of the greatest antiquity ; in which, 
as I remember my dream, they showed him the pedi- 
gree of the Lord of the hill, that he was the Son of the 
Ancient of days, and came by eternal generation. Here 
also was more fully recorded the acts that he had done, 
and the names of many hundreds that he had taken 
into his service ; and how he had placed them in such 
habitations that could neither by length of days, nor de- 
cays of nature, be dissolved. 

Then they read to him some of the worthy acts 
of his servants had done ; as how they had subdued 
kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, 
stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of 
fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness 
were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, and turned 
to flight the armies of the aliens. (Heb. 11 : 33, 34.) 

Then they read again another part of the records of 
the house, where it was shown how willing their Lord 
was to receive into his favor an3^ even any, though 
they in time past had offered great affronts to his per- 
son and proceedings. Here also were several other his- 
tories of many other famous things, of all \vhich Chris- 
tian had a view , as of things both ancient and modern, 
together with prophecies and predictions of things that 
have their certain accomplishment, both to the dread 
and amazement of enemies, and the comfort and solace 
of pilgrims. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 137 

The next day they took him, and had him into the 
armory, where they showed him all manner of furni- 
ture which their Lord had provided for pilgrims, as 
sword, shield, helmet, breastplate, all-prayer, and shoes 
that would not wear out. And there was here enough 
of this to harness out as many men for the service 
of their Lord as there be stars in the heaven for 
multitude. 

They also showed him some of the engines with 
which some of his servants had done wonderful thing^s. 
They showed him Moses' rod; the hammer and nail 
with which Jael slew Sisera; the pitchers, trumpets, 
and lamps too, with which Gideon put to flight the 
armies of Midian. Then they showed him the ox-goad 
wherewith Shamgar slew six hundred men. They 
showed him also the jawbone with which Sampson did 
such mighty feats. They showed him, moreover, the 
sling and stone with which David slew Goliah of Gath ; 
and the sword also with which their Lord will kill the 
man of sin, in the day that he shall rise up to the prey. 
They showed him, besides, many excellent things, with 
which Christian was much delighted. This done, they 
went to their rest again. 

Then I saw in my dream, that on the morrow he 
got up to go forward, but they desired him to stay till 
the next day also ; and then, said they, we will, if the 
day be clear, show you the Delectable Mountains ; 
which, they said, would yet further add to his comfort, 
because they were nearer the desired haven than tlie 
place where at present he was ; so he consented and 
stayed. When the morning was up, they had him to 
the top of the house, and bid him look south. So he 
did, and behold, at a great distance, he saw a most 
pleasant mountainous country, beautified with woods, 
vineyards, fruits of all sorts, ficwers also, with springs 



1 3 8 rHE PIL GRIM 'S PRO GRESS. -s 

and fountains, very delectable to behold. (Isa. 33 : 16, 
17.) Then he asked the name of the country. They 
said it was Immanuers Land ; and it is as common, said 
they, as this hill is, to and for all the pilgrims. And 
when thou comest there, from thence thou may est see 
to the gate of the Celestial City, as the shepherds that 
live there will make appear. 

Now he bethought himself of setting forward, and 
the}^ were willing he should. But first, said they, let 
us go again into the armory. So they did ; and when 
he came there they harnessed him from head to foot 
with what was of proof, lest perhaps he should meet 
with assaults in the way. He being therefore thus ac- 
coutred, walked out with his friends to the gate ; and 
there he asked the Porter if he saw any pilgrim pass 
by. Then the Porter answered. Yes. 

Chr. Pray, did you know him ? said he. 

Port. I asked his name, and he told me it was 
Faithful. 

Chr. Oh said Christian, I know him ; he is my 
townsman, my near neighbor ; he comes from the place 
where I was born. How far do you think he may be 
before ? 

Port. He is got by this time below the hill. 

Chr. Well, said Christian, good Porter, the Lord 
be with thee, and add to all thy blessings much increase 
for the kindness thou hast showed to me. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 139 



THE FOURTH STAGE. 

Then he began to go forward ; but Discretion, Piety, 
Charity, and Prudence would accompany him down to 
the foot of the hill. So they went on together, reiter- 
ating their former discourses, till they came to go 
down the hill. Then said Christian, As it was difficult 
coming up, so far as I can see, it is dangerous going 
down. Yes, said Prudence, so it is ; for it is a hard 
matter for a man to go down into the valley of Hu- 
miliation, as thou art now, and to catch no slip by the 
way; therefore, said she, we are come out to accom- 
pany thee down the hill. So he began to go down 
the hill, but very wearily ; yet he caught a slip or two. 

Then I saw in my dream, that these good com- 
panions, when Christian was got down to the bottom 
of the hill, gave him a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, 
and a cluster of raisins ; and then he went on his way. 

** Whilst Christian is among his godly friends, 
Their golden mouths make him sufficient mends 
For all his griefs ; and when they let him go, 
He's clad with northern steel from top to toe." 

But now, in this valley of Humiliation, poor 
Christian was hard put to it ; for he had gone but a 
little way before he espied a foul fiend coming over the 
field to meet him : his name is Apollyon. Then did 
Christian begin to be afraid, and to cast in his mind 
whether to go back, or to stand his ground. But he 
considered again, that he had no armor for his back, and 
therefore thought that to turn the back to him might 
give him greater advantage with ease to pierce him with 
\m davtp ; therefore he resolved to venture and stand 



,40 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

his ground : for, thought he, had I no more in mine 
eye than the saving of my life, it would be the best 
way to stand. 

So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the 
monster was hideous to behold ; he was clothed with 
scales like a fish, and they are his pride : he had wings 
like a dragon, and feet like a bear ; and out of his belly 
came fire and smoke ; and his mouth was as the mouth 
of a lion. When he was come up to Christian, he be- 
held him with a disdainful countenance, and thus began 
to question him. 

Apollyon. Whence came you, and whither are you 
bound? 

Chr. I am come from the city of Destruction, which 
is the place of all evil, and I am going to the city of Zion. 

Apol. By this I perceive that thou art one of my 
subjects; for all that country is mine, and I am the 
prince and god of it. How is it, then, that thou hast 
run away from thy king ? Were it not that I hope 
thou mayest do me more service, I would strike thee 
now at one blow to the ground. 

Chr. I was, indeed, born in your dominions, but 
your service was hard, and your wages such as man 
could not live on ; for the wages of sin is death (Rom. 
6 : 23) ; therefore, when I was come to years, I did, as 
other considerate persons do, look out if perhaps I 
might mend myself 

Apol. There is no prince that will thus lightly lose 
his subjects, neither will I as yet lose thee ; but since 
thou complainest of thy service and wages, be content 
to go back, and what our country will afford I do here 
promise to give thee. 

Chr. But I have let myself to another, even k) the 
King of princes ; and how can I with fairness go back 
with thee ? 



143 

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



Apol. Thou hast done in this accord ** ^^ 

proverb, ^' changed a bad for a worse ; " bu, 
nary for those that have professed ther 
servants, after a while to give him the slip, 
again to me. Do thou so too, and all shall be well. 

Che. I have given him my faith, and sworn my 
allegiance to him ; how then can I go back from this, 
and not be hanged as a traitor. 

Apol. Thou didst the same by me, and yet I am 
willing to pass by all, if now thou wilt yet turn again 
and go back. 

Chr. What I promised thee was in my nonage : and 
besides, I count that the Prince under whose banner 
1 now stand, is able to absolve me, yea, and to pardon 
also what I did as to my compliancy with thee. And 
besides, oh, thou destroying Apollyon, to speak truth, 
I like his service, his wages, his servants, his govern- 
ment, his company, and country, better than thine ; 
therefore leave off to persuade me further : I am his 
servant, and I will follow him. 

Apol. Consider again, when thou art in cool blood, 
what thou art like to meet with in the way that thou 
goest. Thou knowest that for the most part his 
servants come to an ill end, because they are trans- 
gressors against me and my ways. How many of 
them have been put to shameful deaths ! And besides, 
thou countest his service better than mine ; whereas 
he never yet came from the place where he is, to 
deliver any that served him out of their enemies' 
hands : but as for me, how many times, as all the 
Avorld very well knows, have I delivered, either by 
power or fraud, those that have faithfully served me, 
from him and his, though taken by them ! And so 
will I deliver thee. 

Chb. His forbearinsv at pj^esent to deliver them, is 



142 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 



on purpose to try their love, whether they will cleave 
to him to the end : and as for the ill end thou sayest 
they come to, that is most glorious in their account. 
For, for present deliverance they do not much expect 
it ; for they stay for their glory ; and then they shall 
have it, when their Prince comes in his and the glory 
of the angels. 

Apol. Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy 
service to him ; and how dost thou think to receive 
wages of him ? 

Chr. Wherein, oh, Apollyon, have I been unfaithful 
to him ? 

Apol. Thou didst faint at first setting out, when 
thou was almost choked in the Slough of Despond. 
Thou didst attempt wrong ways to be rid of thy 
burden, whereas thou shouldst have stayed till thy 
Prince had taken it off. Thou didst simply sleep, 
and lose thy choice things. Thou wast almost per- 
suaded also to go back at the sight of the lions. And 
when thou talkest of thy journey, and of what thou 
hast seen and heard, thou art inwardly desirous of 
vainglory in all thou sayest or doest. 

Chr. All this is true, and much more which thou 
has left out; but the Prince whom I serve and honor 
is merciful, and ready to forgive. But besides, these 
infirmities possessed me in thy country, for there I 
sucked them in, and I have groaned under them, been 
sorry for them, and have obtained pardon of my Prince. 

Then Apollyon broke out into a grievous rage, 
saying, I am an enemy to this Prince ; I hate his 
person, his laws, and people ; I am come out on pisr« 
pose to withstand thee. 

Chr. Apollyon, beware what you do, for I am in the 
King's highway, the way of holiness ; therefore take 
herd 10 Y.,urr:t^]f. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 143 

Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole 
breadth of the way, and said, I am void of fear in this 
matter. Prepare thyself to die; for I swear by my in- 
fernal den, that thou shalt go no farther: here will I 
spill thy soul. And with that he threw a flaming dart 
at his breast; but Christian had a shield in his hand, 
with which he caught it, and so prevented the danger of 
that. 

Then did Christian draw, for he saw it was time to 
bestir him; and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing 
darts as thick as hail; by the which, notwithstanding 
all that Christian could do to avoid it, Apollyon wounded 
him in his head, his hand, and foot. This made Chris- 
tian give a little back: Apollyon, therefore, followed 
his work amain, and Christian again took courage, and 
resisted as manfully as he could. This sore combat 
lasted for above half a day, even till Christian was 
almost quite spent: for you must know, that Christian^ 
by reason of his wounds, must needs grow weaker and 
weaker. 

Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to 
gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, 
gave him a dreadful fall : and with that Christianas 
sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am 
sure of thee now: and with that he had almost pressed 
him to death, so that Christian began to despair of life 
But, as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetchl 
ing his last blow, thereby to make a full end of thig 
good man, Christian nimbly reached out his hand for 
his sword, and caught it, saying. Rejoice not against 
me, mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise (Mic. 7: 
8), and with that gave him a deadly thrust, which 
made him give back, as one that had received his mortal 
wound. Christian perceiving that, made at him again, 
Baying;. Nay, in all these things we are more than con- 



^44 " ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

queroTs, through Him that loved us. (Rom. 8: 8T4 
And with that ApoUyon spread forth his dragon wings^ 
and sped him away, that Christian saw him no more. 
^J^mes 4: 7.) 

In this combat no man can imagine, unless he had 
seen and heaid, as I did, what yelling and hideous 
roaring ApoUyon made all the time of the fight ; he 
spake like a dragon : and on the other side, what sighs 
and groans burst from Christian's heart. I never saw 
him all the while give so much as one pleasant look 
till he perceived he had wounded ApoUyon with his 
two-edged sword ; then, indeed, he did smile, and look 
upward ! But it was the dreadf uUest sight that ever I 
saw. 

So when the battle was over. Christian said, I will 
nere give thanks to him that hath delivered me out of 
the month of the lion, to him liiat did help me against 
ApoUyon. And bo he did, saying, 

*• Oreat Beely-ebub, the captain of this fiend. 
Designed my ruin ] therefore to this end 
He sent him harness'd out ; and he, with rage 
That hellish was, did fiercely me engage : 
But blessed Michael helped me, and I, 
By dint of sword, did quickly make him fly : 
Therefore to Him let me give lasting praise. 
And thank and bless his holy name always/* 

Then there came to him a hand with some of the 
leaves of the tree of life, the which Christian took and 
applied to the wounds that he had received in the bat- 
tle, and was healed immediately. He also sat down in 
that place to eat bread, and to drink of the bottle that 
was given him a little before : so, being refreshed, he 
addressed himself to his journey with his sword drawn 
m. Ms hand ; for he saidg I know not but some other 



rzm PILGRIM'S FHOGRESS. 145 

enemy may be at hand. Bnt he met with no other af- 
front from Apollyon quite through this valley. 

Now at the end of this valley was another, called 
the Valley of the Shadow of Death ; and Christian must 
needs go through it, because the way to the Celestial 
City lay through the midst of it. Now, this valley is 
a very solitary place. The prophet Jeremiah thus de- 
scribes it : "A wilderness, a land of deserts and pits, a 
land of drought, and of the Shadow of Death, a land 
that no man " (but a Christian) " passeth through, and 
where no man dwelt." ( Jer. 2 : 6.) 

Now here Christian was worse put to it than in his 
fight with Apollyon, as by the sequel you shall see. 

I saw then in my dream, that when Christian was 
got to the borders of the Shadow of Death, there met 
him two men, children of them that brought up an evil 
report of the good land (Num. 13 : 32), making haste to 
go back , to whom Christian spake as follows. 

Chr. Whither are you going ? 

Men. They said, Back, back ; and we would have 
you do so too, if either life or peace is prized by you. 

Chr. Why, what's the matter? said Christian. 

Men. Matter I said they ; we were going that way 
as you are going, and went as far as we durst ; and in- 
deed we were almost past coming back ; for had we 
gone a little farther, we had not been here to bring the 
news to thee. 

Chr. But what have you met with ? said Christian, 

Men. Why, we were almost in the Valley of the 
Shadow of Death, but that by good hap we looked be- 
fore us, and saw the danger before we came to it. (Psa, 
44. 19; 107: 19.) 

Chr. But what have you seen ? said Christian. 

Men. Seen ? why the valley itself, which is as dark 
«!j pitch : we also saw there the hobs^oblins, satyrs, and 



146 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

dragons of the pit : we heard also in that valley a coia' 
tinual howling and yelling, as of a people under unut- 
terable misery, who there sat bound in affliction and 
irons : and over that valley hang the discouraging clouds 
of confusion : Death also doth always spread his wings 
over it. In a word, it is every whit dreadful, being ut- 
terly without order. (Job 3 : 5 ; 10 : 22.) 

Chr. Then, said Christian, I perceive not yet, by 
what you have said, but that this is my way to the de- 
sired haven. (Psalm 44: 18, 19; Jer. 2 : 6.) 

Men. Be it thy way ; we will not choose it for ours. 

So they parted, and Christian went on his way, but 
still with his sword drawn in his hand, for fear lest he 
should be assaulted. 

I saw then in my dream, so far as this valley reached, 
there was on the right hand a very deep ditch ; that 
ditch is it into which the blind have led the blind in all 
ages, and have both there miserably perished. Again, 
behold, on the left hand there was a very dangerous 
quag, into which, if even a good man falls, he finds no 
bottom for his foot to stand on . into that quag King 
David once did fall, and had mo doubt therein been 
smothered, had not He that is able plucked him out. 
(Psa. 69 : 14.) 

The pathway was here also exceeding narrow, and 
therefore good Christian was the more put to it ; for 
when he sought, in the dark, to shun the ditch on the 
one hand, he was ready to tip over into the mire on the 
other ; also, when he sought to escape the mire, with- 
out great carefulness he would be ready to fall into the 
ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard hmi here sigh 
bitterly ; for besides the danger mentioned above, the 
pathway was here so dark, that ofttimes when he lifted 
op his foot to go forward, he knew not where or upon 
what he should set it next. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 147 

About the midst of this valley I perceived the mouth 
of hell to be, and it stood also hard by the wayside. 
Now, thought Christian, what shall I do? And ever 
and anon the flame and smoke would come out in such 
abundance, with sparks and hideous noises (things that 
cared not for Christain's sword, as did ApoUyon be. 
fore), that he was forced to put up his sword, and be- 
take himself to another weapon, called All-prayer 
(Eph. 6 : 18); so he cried, in my hearing, Lord, 1 
beseech thee, deliver my soul. (Psa. 116 : 4.) Thus he 
went on a great while, yet still the flames would be 
reaching toward him; also he heard doleful voices, 
and rushings to and fro, so that sometimes he thought 
he should be torn in pieces, or troddden down like mire 
in the streets. This frightful sight was seen, and these 
dreadful noises were heard by him for several miles to- 
gether ; and coming to a place where he thought he 
heard a company of fiends coming forward to meet him, 
he stopped and began to muse what he had best to do. 
Sometimes he had half a thought to go back ; then 
again he thought he might be half way through the 
valley. He remembered also, how he had already van- 
quished many a danger ; and that the danger of going 
back might be much more than for to go forward. So 
he resolved to go on ; yet the fiends seemed to come 
nearer and nearer. But when they were come even al- 
most at him, he cried out with a most vehement voice, I 
will walk in the strength of the Lord God. So they 
gave back, and came no farther. 

One thing I would not let slip. I took notice that 
now poor Christian was so confounded that he did not 
know his own voice ; and thus I perceived just when 
he was came over against the mouth of the burning pit, 
one of the wicked ones got behind him, and stepped up 
softly to him, and whisperingly suggested many griev- 



,^8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

f)us blasphemies to him, which he verily thought had 
proceeded from his own mind. This put Christian more 
to it tlmn anything that he met with before, even to 
think that he should now blaspheme Him that he loved 
so much before. Yet if he could have helped it, he 
would not have done it ; but he had not the discretion 
either to stop his ears, or to know from whence these 
blasphemies came. 

When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate 
condition some considerable time, he thought he heard 
the voice of a man, as going before him, saying. Though 
I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I 
will fear no evil, for thou art with me. (Psa. 23 : 4.) 

Then was he glad, and that for these reasons : 

First, Because he gathered from thence, that some 
who feared God were in this valley as well as himself. 

Secondly, For that he perceived God was with them, 
though in that dark and dismal state. And why not, 
thought he, with me, though by reason of the impedi- 
ment that attends this place, I can not perceive it. (Job 
9:11.) 

Thirdly, For that he hoped (could he overtake them) 
to have company by and by. So he went on, and called 
to him that was before ; but he knew not what to 
answer, for that he also thought himself to be alone. 
And by and by the day broke : then said Christian, 
" He hath turned the shadow of death into the morn- 
ing." (Amos 5 : 8.) 

Now morning being come, he looked back, not out 
of desire to return, but to see, by the light of the day, 
what hazards he had gone through in the dark. So he 
saw more perfectly the ditch that was on the one hand, 
and the quag that was on the other; also, how narrow 
the w^v was which led betwixt them both. Also, now 
iie saw the hobgoDlins, and satyrs, and dragons of the 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 149 

pit, but all afar off ; for after break of day they came 
not nigh ; yet they were discovered to him, according 
to that which is written, " He discovereth deep things 
out of darkness, and bringeth out to light the shadow 
of death." (Job 12 : 22.) 

Now was Christian much affected with this deliv- 
erance from all the dangers of his solitary way ; which 
dangers, though he feared them much before, yet he 
saw them more clearly now, because the light of the 
dtty made them conspicuous to him. And about this 
time the sun was rising, and this was another mercy to 
Christian ; for you must note, that though the first part 
of tlie Valley of the Shadow of Death was dangerous, 
yet this second part, which he was yet to go, was, if 
possible, far more dangerous ; for, from the place where 
he now stood, even to the end of the valley, the way 
was all along set so full of snares, traps, gins, and nets 
here, and so full of pits, pitfalls, deep holes, and shelv- 
ings-down there, that bad it now been dark, as it was 
when he came the first part of the way, had he had a 
thousand souls, they had in reason been cast away ; but, 
as I said, just now the sun was rising. Then said he, 
'' His candle shineth on my head, and by his light I go 
through darkness." (Job 29 : 3.) 

In this light, therefore, he came to the end of the 
valley. Now I saw in my dream, that at the end of th3 
valley lay blood, bones, ashes, and mangled bodies of 
men, even of pilgrims that had gone this way formerly ; 
and while I was musing what should be the reason, I 
espied sr lirtle before me a cave, where two giants, 
PoT>e and Pagan, dwelt in old time ; by whose power 
and tyranny the men whose bones, blood, ashes, &c., 
lay there, were cruelly put to death. But by this place 
Christian went without much danger, whereat I some- 
••'^t wondered ; but I have learnt since, that Pagan 



I^O "^HE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

has been dead many a day ; and as for the other, though 
he be yet alive, he is, by reason of age, and also of the 
many shrewd brushes that he met with in his younger 
days, grown so crazy and stiff in his joints that he can 
now do little more than sit in his cave's mouth, grin- 
ning at pilgrims as they go b}^ and biting his nails be- 
cause he can not come at them. 

So I saw that Christian went on his way ; yet at 
the sight of the old man that sat at the mouth of the 
cave, he could not tell what to think, especially because 
he spoke to him, though he could not go after him, say- 
ing, You will never mend till more of you be burned. 
But he held his peace, and set a good face on it ; and 
BO went by, and catched no hurt. Then sang Christian, 

*' Oh, world of wonders (I can say no less), 
That I should be preserved in that distress 
That I have met with here ! Oh, blessed be 
That hand that from it hath delivered me 1 
Dangers in darkness, devils, hell, and sin. 
Did compass me, while I this vale was in ; 
Yea, snares, and pits, and traps, and nets did lie 
My path about, that worthless, silly I 
Might have beeii catch 'd, entangl'd, and cast down ; 
But since I live, let Jesus wear the crown." 



THE FIFTH STAGE. 

Now, as Christian went on his way, he came to a 
litiie ascent, which was cast up on purpose that pil- 
grims might see before them : up there, therefore, 
Christian went ; and looking forward, he saw Faithful 
before him upon his journey. Then said Christian 
aloud, Ho, ho ; so, ho , stay, and I will be your com* 



THF PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. I5t 

laoloM. At that Faithful looked behind him; co who»r„ 
OhiiStian cried again. Stay, stay, till I come up to you. 
But Fa.ithiul answered. No, I am upon my life, and the 
avenger of blood is behind me. 

At this Christian was somewhat moved, and putting 
to all his strength, he quickly got up with Faithful, and 
did also overrun him ; so the last was first. Then did 
Christian vaingloriously smile, because he had gotten 
the start of his brother ; but not taking good heed to 
his feet, he suddenly stumbled and fell, and could not 
rise again until Faithful came up to help him. 

Then I saw in my dream, they went very lovingly 
on together, and had sweet discourse of all things that 
had happened to them in their pilgrimage ; and thus 
Christian began. 

Chr. My honored and well-beloved brother Faith- 
ful, I am glad that I have overtaken you, and that God 
has so tempered our spirits that we can walk as com- 
panions in this so pleasant a path. 

Faith. I had thought, my dear friend, to have your 
company quite from our town, but you did get the start 
of me ; wherefore I was forced to come thus much of 
the way alone. 

Chr. How long did you stay in the city of De- 
struction before 3^ou set out after me on your pil- 
grimage * 

Faith. Till I could sta}' no longer ; for there was a 
great talk presentl}" after you were gone out, that our 
city would, in a short time, with fire from heaven, be 
burnt down to the ground. 

; -hr. What, did your neighbors talk so ? 

Faith. Yes, it was for a while in everybody's 
mouth 

Chr. What, a^d did no more of them but you come 
out to escape the danger f 



i5« 



THE PILGR'^^'S PROGRESS. 



Faith. Though there was, as I said, a great talk 
thereabout, yet I do not think they did firmly believe 
it; for, in the heat of the discourse, I heard some of 
them deridingly speak of you and of your desperate 
journey, for so they called this your pilgrimage. But I 
did believe, and do still, that the end of our city T.dll 
be with fire and brimstone from above ; and therefore I 
have made my escape. 

Chr. Did you hear no talk of neighbor Pliable ? 

Faith. Yes, Christian, I heard that he followed 
you till he came to the Slough of Despond, where, as 
some said, he fell in ; but he Avould not be known to 
have so done : but I am sure he was soundly bedabbled 
with that kind of dirt. 

Chr. And what said the neighbors to him ? 

Faith. He hath, since his going back, been held 
greatly in derision, and that among all sorts of people : 
some do mock and despise him, and scarce will any set 
him on work. He is now seven times worse than if he 
had never gone out of the city. 

Chr. But why should they be so set against him, 
since they also despise the way that he forsook ? 

Faith. Oh, they say, Hang him ; he is a turncoat : 
he was not true to his profession ! I think God has 
stirred up even His enemies to hiss at him, and make 
him a proverb, because he hath forsaken the way. (Jer. 
29: 18,19.) 

Chr. Had you no talk with him before you came 
out? 

Faith. I met him once in the streets, but he leered 
away on the other side, as one ashamed of what he had 
done; so I spake not to him. 

Chr. Well, at my first setting out I had hopes of 
that man ; but now I fear he will perish in the over- 
throw of the city. For it has happened to him accord* 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 153 

iing to the true proverb, " The dog is turned to his 
vomit again, and the sow that was washed to her wal- 
lowing in the mire." (2 Pet. 2 : 22.) 

Faith. These are my fears of him, too ; but who 
can hinder that which will be ? 

Chr. Well, neighbor Faithful, said Christian, let us 
leave him, and talk of things that more immediately 
concern ourselves. Tell me now what you have met 
with in the way as you came ; for I know you have met 
with some things, or else it may be writ for a wonder. 

Faith. I escaped the slough that I perceived you 
fell into, and got up to the gate without that danger ; 
only I met with one whose name was Wanton, who had 
like to have done me mischief. 

Chr. It was well you escaped her net : Joseph was 
hard put to it by her, and he escaped her as you did ; 
but it had like to have cost him his life. (Gen. 39 : 
11-13.) Buu what did she do to you ? 

Faith. You cannot think (but that you know some- 
thing) what a flattering tongue she had ; she lay at me 
hard to turn aside with her, promising me all manner of 
content, 

Chr. Nay, she did not promise you the content of a 
good conscience. 

Faith. You know that I mean all carnal and fleshly- 
content. 

Chr. Thank God that you escaped her : the abhor- 
red of the Lord shall fall into her pit. (Prov. 22 : 14.) 

Faith. Nay, I know not whether I did wholly es- 
cape her or no. 

Chr. Why, I trow you did not consent to her de- 
sires ? 

Faith. No, not to defile myself; for I remembered 
an old writing that 1 had seen, which said, " Her steps 
take bold on hell/' (Prov. 5 : 5.) So I shut mine eyes, 



154 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRES:^ 

because I would not be bewitched with her looks. (Joto 
31 : 1.) Then she railed on me, and I went on my way. 

Chr. Did you meet with no other assault as you 
came? 

Faith. When I came to the foot of the hill called 
DifBculty, I met with a very aged man, who asked me 
what I was, and whither bound. I told him that I was 
a pilgrim, going to the Celestial City. Then said the 
old man. Thou lookest like an honest fellow ; wilt thou 
be content to dwell with me for the wages that I shall 
give thee? Then I asked his name, and where he 
dwelt. He said his name was Adam the First, and that 
he dwelt in the town of Deceit. (Eph. 3 : 22.) I 
.ked him then what was his work, and what the wages 
that he would give. He told me that his work was 
'Zany delights ; and his wages, that I should be his heir 
a*i lasto 1 further asked him, what house he kept, and 
other ser^:* Lts he had. So he told me that his house 
was mainiamed with all the dainties of the world, and 
Vriat his servants was those of his own befrettiner. Then 
:^,sked how many children he had. He said that he 
nad but three daughters, the Lust of the Flesh, the 
Lust of the Eyes, and the Pride of Life (1 John, 2 ; 16) ; 
and that I should marry them if I would. Then I 
asked, how long time he would have me live with him ; 
and he told me, as long as he lived himself. 

Chr. Well, and what conclusions came the old man 
and you to at last ? 

Faith. Why, at first I found myself somewhat in- 
clinable to go with the man, for I thought he spoke 
very fair ; but looking in his forehead, as I talked with 
him, I saw there written, " Put off the old man with 
his deeds." 

Chr. And how then ? 

Faith. Then it came burning hot into my mind, 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. i ^ 5 

tlxdt, whatever he said, and however he flattered, when 
he got me home to his house he would sell me for a 
slave. So I bid him forbear to talk, for I would not, 
come near the door of his house. Then he reviled me, 
and told me that he would send such a one after me 
that should make my way bitter to my soul. So I 
turned to go away from him ; but just as I turned my- 
self to go thence, I felt him take hold of my flesh, and 
give me such a deadly twitch back, that I thought he 
had pulled part of me after himself : this made me cry, 
" Oh, wretched man." (Rom. 7 : 24.) So I went on 
my way up the hill. 

Now, when I got about half the way up, I looked 
behind me, and saw one coming after me, swift as the 
wind ; so he overtook me just about the place where the 
settle stands. 

Just there, said Christian, did I sit down to rest me ; 
but, being overcome with sleep, I there lost this roll 
out of my bosom. 

Faith. But, good brother, hear me out. So soon 
as the man overtook me, it was but a word and a blow ; 
for down he knocked me, and laid me for dead. But 
when I was a little come to myself again, I asked him 
v/herefore he served me so. He said because of my 
secret inclining^ to Adam the First. And with that he 
struck me another deadly blow on the breast, and beat 
me down backward ; so I lay at his feet as dead as be- 
fore. So when I came to myself again, I cried, have 
mercy ; but he said, I know not how to show mercy ; 
and with that he knocked me down again. He had 
doubtless made an end of me, but that One came by 
and bid him forbear. 

Chr. Who was that that bid him forbear? 

Faith. I did not know Him at first : but as He 
went by, I perceived the holes in His hands and His 



1^6 THE PILGRIM 'c^ rKO^RESS. 

side : then I concluded that He was our Lord. So I 
went up the hill. 

Chr. That man that overtook you was Moses. He 
spareth none ; neither knoweth he how to show mercy 
to those that transgress his law. 

Faith. I know it very well ; it was not the first 
time that he has met with me. 'Twas he that came to 
me when I dwelt securely at home, and that told me 
that he would burn my house over my head if I staid 
there. 

Chr. But did you not see the house that stood there 
on the top of the hill, on the side of which Moses met 
you? 

Faith. Yes, and the lions too, before I came at it 
But, for the lions, I think they were asleep, for it was 
about noon ; and because I had so much of the day be- 
fore me, I passed by the porter, and came down the hill. 

Chr. He told me, indeed, that he saw you go by ; 
but I wish that you had called at the house, for they 
would have showed j^ou so many rarities that you 
would scarce have forgot them to the day of j^^our death. 
But pray tell me, did you meet anybody in the Valley 
of Humility ? 

Faith. Yes, I met v/ith one Discontent, who would 
willingly have persuaded me to go back again with him : 
his reason was, for that the valley was altogether with- 
out honor. He told me, moreover, that to go there was 
the way to disoblige all my fiiends, as Pride, Arrogancy, 
Self-Conceit, Worldly Glory, with others, who he knew, 
as he said, would be very much offended if 1 made such 
a fooj of myself as to wade through this valley. 

Chr. Well, and how did you answer him ? 

Faith. I told him, that although all these that he 
named mighC claim a kindred of me, and that rightly 
(for indeed they were my relations, according to the 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, jgy 

flesh), yet since I became a pilgrim they h&ve disowned 
me, and I also have rejected them ; and therefore they 
were to me now no more than if they had never been 
of my lineage. I told him, moreover, that as to this 
valley, he liad quite misrepresented the thing ; for be- 
fore honor is humility, and a haughty spirit before a 
fall. Therefore, said I, I had rather go through thi? 
valley to the honor that was so accounted by the wisest 
than choose that which he esteemed most worthy of 
our affections. 

Chr. Met you with nothing else in that valley? 

Faith. Yes, I met with Shame ; but of all the men 
that I met with on my pilgrimage, he, I think, bears 
the wrong name. The others would be said nay, after 
a little argumentation, and somev/hat else ; but this 
boldfaced Shame would never have done. 

Chr. Why, what did he say to you ? 

Faith. What ? Why, he objected against religion 
itself. He said it was a pitiful, low, sneaking business, 
for a man to mind religion. He said that a tender 
conscience was an unmanly thing ; and that for a man 
to watch over his words and ways, so as to tie up him- 
self from that hectoring liberty that the brave spirits of 
the times accustom themselves unto, would make him 
the ridicule of the times. He objected also, that but a 
few of the mighty, rich, or wise, were ever of my opin- 
ion ; nor any of them neither, before they were per- 
suaded to be fools, and to be of a voluntary fondness to 
venture the loss of all for nobod}^ knows what. (1 
Cor. 1 : 26 ; 3:18; Phil. 3 : 7-9 ; John 7 % 48.) He, 
moreover, objected the base and low estate and condi- 
tion of those that were chiefly the pilgrims of the times 
in which they lived ; also, their ignorance and want of 
understanding in all natural science. Yea, he did hold 
me to it at that rate also, about a great many more 



I^g THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

things than here I relate ; as, that it was a shame to sit 
whining and mourning under a sermon, and a shame to 
come sighing and groaning home ; that it was a shame 
to ask my neighbor forgiveness for petty faults, or to 
make restitution where I have taken from any. He 
^aid also, that religion made a man grow strange to the 
great, because of a few vices, which he called by finer 
names, and made him own and respect the base, be- 
cause of the same religious fraternity ; and is not this^ 
said he, a shame ? 

Chr. And what did you say to him ? 

Faith. Say ? I could not tell what to say at first. 
Yea, he put me so to it, that my blood came up in my 
face ; even this Sliame fetched it up, and had almost 
beat me quite off. But at last I began to consider that 
that which is highly esteemed among men, is had in 
abomination with Gocf. (Luke 16 ; 15.) And I thought 
again, this Shame tells me what men are ; but he tells 
me nothing what God or the word of God is. And I 
thought, moreover, that at the day of doom we shall not 
be doomed to death or life according to the hectoring 
spirits of the world, but accarding to the wisdom and 
the law of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what 
God says is indeed best, though all the men in the 
world are against it. Seeing, then, that God prefers his 
religion ; seeing God prefers a tender conscience ; see- 
ing they that make themselves fools for the Kingdom 
of Heaven are wisest, and that the poor man that loveth 
Christ is richer than the greatest man in the world that 
hates him ; Shame, depart, thou art an enemy to my 
salvation. Shall I entertain thee against my sovereign 
Lord? How then shall I look Him in the face at His 
coming ? (Mark 8 : 38.) Should I now be ashamed of 
His ways and servants, how can I expect the blessing ? 
But indeed this Shame was a bold villain; I coul4 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. l^o 

scarcely shake him out of my company ; yea, he would 
be haunting of me, and continually whispering me in 
the ear with some one or other of the infirmities that 
attend religion. But at last I told him, that it was but 
in vain to attempt further in this business ; for those 
lliings that he disdained, in those did I see most glory; 
and so at last I got past this importunate one. And 
when I had shaken him off, then I beg^an to sinor .. 

** The trials that those men do meet withal, 
That are obedient to the heavenly call, 
Are manifold, and suited to the flesh. 
And come, and come, and come again afresh ; 
That now, or some time else, we by them may 
Be taken, overcome, and cast away. 
Oh, let the pilgrims, let the pilgrims, then, 
Be vigilant, and 'quit themselves like men," 

Chr. I am glad, my brother, that thou didst witb 
stand this villain so bravely ; for of all, as thou sayest, 
i tliink he has the wrong name : for he is so bold as to 
follow us in the streets, and to attempt to put us to 
shame before all men ; that is, to make us ashamed of 
that which is good. But if he was not himself auda- 
cious, he would never attempt to do as he does. But 
let us still resist him ; for, notwithstanding all hk 
bravadoes, he promoteth the fool, and none else. 
"- The wise shall inherit glory," said Solomon ; " but 
shame shall be the promotion of fools." (Prov. 3 : 35.) 

Faith. I think we must cry to Him for help against 
Shiime, that would have us to be valiant for ti uth upon 
the earth. 

Chr. You say true ; but did you meet with nobody 
else in that valley ? 

Faith. No, not I ; for I had sunshine all the rest of 
the way through that, and also through the Valley of 
the Shadow of Death. 

Chr. 'Twas well for you: I am sure it fared far 



1 6o THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 

otherwise with me. I had for a long season, as soon 
almost as I entered into that valley, a dreadful combat 
with that foul fiend Apollyon ; yea, I thought verily 
he would have killed me, especiallj^ w4ien he got me 
down, and crushed me under him, as if he would have 
crushed me to pieces ; for, as he threw me, my sword 
flew out of my hand : nay, he told me he was sure of 
me ; but I cried unto God, and he heard me, and de- 
livered me out of all my troubles. Then I entered 
into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and had no 
light for almost half the wa}' through it. I thought I 
should have been killed there over and over ; but at 
last day brake, and the sun rose, and I went through 
that which was behind with far more ease and quiet. 

Moreover, I saw in my dream, that as they wxnt on. 
Faithful, as he chanced to look on one side, saw a man 
whose name was Talkative, walking at a distance beside 
them . for in this place there was room enough for 
them all to walk. He was a tall man, and something 
more comely at a distance than at hand. To this man 
Faithful addressed himself in this manner. 

Faith. Friend, whither away ? Are you going to 
the heavenly country? 

Talk. I am going to the same place. 

Faith. That is well ; then I hope we may have your 
good company ? 

Talk. With a very good will, will I be your com- 
panion. 

Faith. Come on, then, and let us go together, and 
let us spend our time in discoursing of things that are 
profitable. 

Talk. To talk of things that are good, to me is very 
acceptable, with you or with any other ; and I am glad 
that I have met with those that incline to so good a 
work ; for to speak the truth, there are but few who 



THE PILCKIM'S PROGRESS. l6i 

care thus to spend their time as they are in their 
travels, but choose much rather to be speaking of 
things to no profit; and this hath been a trouble to me. 

Faith. That is, indeed, a thing to be lamented ; for 
what thing so worthy of the use of the tongue and 
mouth of men on earth, as are the things of the God of 
heaven ? 

Talk. I like you wonderful well, for your sayings 
are full of conviction ; and I will add, What thing is 
so pleasant, and what so profitable, as to talk of the 
things of God ? What things so pleasant ? that is, if 
a man hath any delight in things that are wonderful. 
For instance, if a man doth delight to talk of the his- 
tory, or the mystery of things ; or if a man doth love 
to talk of miracles, wonders, or signs, where shall he 
find things recorded so delightful, and so sweetly 
penned, as in the Holy Scripture ? 

Faith. That is true ; but to bo profited by such 
things in our talk, should be our chief design. 

Talk. That is it that I said ; for to talk of such 
things is most profitable ; for by so doing a man may 
get knowledge of many things ; as of the vanity of 
earthly things, and the benefit of things above. Thus 
in general ; but more particularly, by this a man may 
learn the necessity of the new birth, the insufficiency 
of our works, the need of Christ's righteousness, &c 
Besides, by this a man may learn what it is to repent, 
to believe, to pray, to suffer, or the like % by this, also, 
a man may learn what are the great promises and 
consolations of the Gospel, to his own comfort. 
Further, by this a man may learn to refute false 
opinions, to vindicate the truth, and also to instruct tho 
ignorant. 

Faith. All this is true \ and glad am I to hear 
theso things from you. 



,5a THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 

Talk. Alas ! the want of this is the cause that se 
few understand the need of faith, and the necessity of 
a work of grace in their soul, in order to eternal life ; 
but ignorantlj live in the works of the law, by which 
a man can by no means obtain the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Faith. But, by your leave, heavenly knowledge of 
these is the gift of God ; no man attaineth to them by 
human industry, or only by the talk of them. 

Talk. All that I know very well ; for a man can 
receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven : 
all is of grace, not of works. I could give you a 
hundred scriptures for the confirmation of this. 

Faith. Well, then, said Faithful, what is that one 
thing that we shall at this time found our discourse upon? 

Talk. What you will. I will talk of things 
heavenly, or things earthly ; things moral ; or things 
evangelical ; things sacred, or things profane ; things 
past, or things to come ; things foreign, or things at 
home ; things more essential, or things circumstantial : 
provided that all be done to our profit. 

Now did. Faithful begin to wonder; and stepping to 
Christian (for he walked all this while by himself), he 
said to him, but softly. What a brave companion have 
we got ! Surely, this man will make a very excellent 
pilgrim. 

At this Christian modestly smiled, and said. This 
man, with whom you are so taken, will beguile with 
this tongue of his, twenty of them that know him not. 

Faith. Do j^ou know him, then ? 

Chr. Know him ? Yes, better than he knows 
himself. 

Faith. Pray, what is he ? 

Chk. His name is Talkative : he dwelleth in our 
town. I wonder that you should be a stranger to him, 
only I consider that our town is large. 



THE PrLGRIM'S PROGRESS. ,6 

Faith. Whose son is he? And whereabout doth 
he dwell ? 

Chb He is the son of one Saywell. He dwelt in 
Pratmg-Row; and he is known to all that are ac- 
quaintedwith him by the name of Talkative of Pratins- 
Row; and, notwithstanding his fine tongue, he is but 
a sorry fellow. 

Faith. Well, he seems to be a very pretty man. 

Che. That is to them that have not a thorouo-h ac- 
quaintanoe with him, for he is best abroad; near^home 
he IS ugly enough. Your saying that he is a pretty 
man brings to my mind what I have observed in the 
work of a painter, whose pictures show best at a dis- 
tance ; but very near, more unpleasing. 

Faith. But I am ready to think you do but jest, 
because you smiled. •* 

Che. God forbid that I should jest (though I smiled) 
in his matter, or that I sliould accuse any falsely I 
will give you a further discovery of him. This man is 
for any company, and for any talk; as he talketh now 
with you, so will he talk when he is on the ale-bench; 
and the more drink he hath in his crown, the more o 
these things he hath in his mouth. Religion hath no 
wrr^Ji, \ ''''' °' '^""^^'O'- conversation; all he 

'^t::^^^^^-''^ -''^^-■- - -ke : 

deceive?- ''" "'" " ' ^'^^^ ^"^ ^ '^ *^'« -- ?-% 

Che. Deceived ! you may be sure of it. Remember 

the proverb, "They say and do not ; " but " the kingdom 

of God IS not in word but in power." (Matt. 23: 3: 

L?r \ ?;\ "' *f "^'^ "^P^'^^^'' «f "-epentance, o 
fe th and of the new b.rth ; but he knows but only to 
talk of them I have been in his family, and have ob- 
served h.m both at Kome and abroad: and I know 



l64 1^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

what I say of him is the truth. His house is as empty 
of religion as the white of an egg is of savor. There 
is there neither prayer, nor sign of repentance for sin - 
yea, the brute, in his kind, serves God far better than. 
he. He is the very stain, reproach, and shame of 
religion to all that know him (Rom. 2 : 24, 25) ; it can 
hardly have a good word in all that end of the town, 
where he dwells, through him. Thus say the common 
people that know him, " A saint abroad, and a devil at 
home." His poor family finds it so ; he is such a churl, 
such a railer at and so unreasonable with his servants, 
that they neither know how to do for or speak to him. 
Men that have any dealings with him say, " It is 
better to deal with a Turk than with him, for 
fairer dealings they shall have at their hands." This 
Talkative (if it be possible) will go beyond them, 
defraud, beguile, and overreach them. Besides, he 
brings up his sons to follow his steps , and if he finds 
in any of them a foolish timorousness (for so he calls 
the first appearance of a tender conscience), he calls 
them fools and blockheads, and by no means will em- 
ploy them in much, or speak to their commendation 
before others. For my part, I am of opinion that he 
has, by his wicked life, caused many to stumble and 
fall ; and will be, if God prevents not, the ruin of many 
more. 

Faith. Well, my brother, I am bound to believe 
you, not only because you say you know him, but also 
because, like a Christian, you make your reports of men. 
For I can not think that you speak these things of ill- 
will, but because it is even so as you say. 

Chr. Had I known him no more than you, I might, 
perhaps, have thought of him as at the first you did ; 
yea, had I received this report at their hands only that 
are enemies to religion, I should have thought it had 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS, 1 65 

been a slander — a lot that often falls from bad men's 
mouths upon good men's names and professions. But 
all these things, 3^ea, and a great many more as bad, 
of my own knowledge, I can prove him guilty of. 
Besides, good men are ashamed of him; they can 
neither call him brother or friend ; the very naming 
of him among them makes them blush, if they know 
him. 

Faith. Well, I see that sa3dng and doing are two 
things, and hereafter I shall better observe this dis- 
tinction. 

Chr. They are two things indeed, and are as divi^rse 
as are the soul and the body ; for as the body without 
the soul is but a dead carcass, so saying^ if it be alone, 
is but a dead carcass also. The soul of religion is the 
practical part. " Pure religion and undefiled before 
God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and 
widows in their affliction, and to keep himself un- 
spotted from the wo]id."( James 1 : 27 ; see also verses 
2, 3, 24, 26.) This Talkative is not aware of; he thinks 
that hearing and saying will make a good Christian ; 
and thus he deceiveth his own soul. Hearing is but 
as the sowing of the seed ; talk is not sufficient to 
prove that fruit is indeed in the heart and life. And 
let us assure ourselves, that at the day of doom men 
shall be judged according to their fruits. (Matt. 13 : 23.) 
It will not be said then. Did you believe? but. Were 
you doers, or talkers only ? and accordingly shall they 
be judged. The end of the world is compared to our 
harvest (Matt. 13 : 30), and you know men at harvest 
regard nothing but fruit. Not that any thing can be 
accepted that is not of faith ; but I speak this to show 
you how insignificant the profession of Talkative will 
be at that day. 

Faith. This brings to my mind that of Moses, by 



l66 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

which he describeth the beast that is clean. (Levit. 11 ; 
Deut. 14,) He is such an one that parteth the hoof, 
and cheweth the cud ; not that parteth the hoof only, 
or that cheweth the cud only. The hare cheweth the 
cad, but yet is iinclean, because he parteth not the 
hoof. And this truly resembleth Talkative ; he cheweth 
the cud, he seeketh knowledge ; he cheweth upon the 
word, but he divideth not the hoof. He parteth not 
with the way of sinners ; but as the hare, he retaineth 
the foot of the dog or bear, and therefore he is un- 
clean. 

Chr. You have spoken for aught I know, the true 
gospel sense of these texts. And I will add another 
thing : Paul calleth some men, yea, and those great 
talkers too, "sounding brass, and tinkling cymbals" 
(1 Cor. 13 : 1, 3) ; that is, as he expounds them in 
another place, " things without life, giving sound." 
(1 Cor. 14: 7.) Things without life; that is, without 
the true faith and grace of the Gospel ; and, conse- 
quently, things that shall never be placed in the 
Kingdom of Heaven among those that are the chil- 
dren of life ; though their sound, by their talk, be as if 
it were the tongue or voice of an angel. 

Faith. Well, I was not so fond of his company at 
first, but I am as sick of it now. What shall we do to 
be rid of him ? 

Chr. Take my advice, and do as I bid you, and you 
shall find that he will soon be sick of your company 
too, except God shall touch his heart, and turn it. 

Faith. What would you have me do ? 

Chr. Why, go to him, and enter into some serious 
discourse about the power of religion ; and ask him 
plainly (when he has approved of it, for that he will), 
whether this thing be set up in his heart, house, or 
conversation. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 15^ 

Then Faithful stepped forward again, and said to 
Talkative, Come, what cheer ? How is it now ? 

Talk. Thank you, well : I thought we should have 
had a great deal of talk by this time. 

Faith. Well, if you will, we will fall to it now; and 
since you left it with me to state the question, let it 
be this: How doth the saving grace of God discover 
Itself when it is in the heart of man ? 

Talk. I perceive, then, that our talk must be about 
the power of things. Well, it is a very good question, 
and I shall be willing to answer you. And take my 
answer in brief, thus : First, where the grace of God is 
in the heart, it causeth there a great outcry against 
sin. Secondly — 

Faith. Nay, hold; let us consider of one at once, 
I think you should rather say, It shows itself by in- 
clining the soul to abhor its sin. 

Talk. Why, what difference is there between crying 
out against the abhorring of sin ? 

Faith. Oh ! a great deal. A man may cry out 
against sin, of policy ; but he can not abhor it but by 
virtue of a goodly antipathy against it. I have heard 
many cry out against sin in the pulpit, who can yet 
abide it well enough in the heart, house, and conver- 
sation. (Gen. 39 ; 15.) Joseph's mistress cried out with 
a loud voice, as if she had been very chaste; but she 
would willing, notwithstanding that, have committed 
uncleaness with him. Some cry out against sin, even 
as the mother cries out against her child in her lap, 
when she calleth it slut and naughty girl, anc/ tiien 
falls to hugging and kissing it. 

Talk. You lie at the catch, I perceive. 
Faith. No, not I ; I am only for setting things right. 
But what is the second thing whereby you would 
prove a discovery of a work of grace in the heart? 



i68 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Talk. Great knowledge of gospel mysteries. 

Faith. This sign should have been first ; but, first 
or last, it is also false ; for knowledge, great knowledge, 
may be obtained in the mysteries of the Gospel, and 
yet no work of grace in the soul. Yea, if a man have 
all knowledge, he may yet be nothing, and so, conse- 
quently be no child of God. (1 Cor. 18 : 2.) When 
Christ said, " Do you know all these things ? " and the 
disciples answered, " Yes," he added, " Blessed are ye, 
if ye do them." He doth not lay the blessing in the 
knowing of them, but in the doing of them. For 
there its a knowledge that is not attended with doing: 
*' He that knoweth his Master's will, and doeth it not." 
A man may know like an angel, and yet be no Christian : 
therefore your sign of it is not true. Indeed, to know 
is a thing that pleasetli talkers and boasters ; but to 
do is that which pleaseth God. Not that the heart can 
be good without knowledge, for without that the heart 
is naught. There are, therefore, two sorts of knowl- 
edge, knowledge that resteth in the bare speculation 
of things, and knowledge that is accompanied with the 
grace of faith and love, which puts a man upon doing 
even the will of God from the heart : the first of these 
will serve the talker; but without the other, the true 
Christian is not content. " Give me understanding, 
and I shall keep thy law ; yea, I shall observe it with 
my whole heart." (Psalm 119 : 34). 

Talk. You lie at the catch again : this is not for 
edification. 

Faith. Well, if you please, propound another sign 
oW this work of grace disco vereth itself where it is. 

Talk. Not I, for I see we shall not agree. 

Faith. Well, if you will not, will you give me leave 
to do it ? 

Talk. You may use your liberty. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 1^9 

Faith. A work of grace in the soul disco vereth it- 
self, either to him that hath it or to standers-by. 

To him that hath it, thus : It gives him conviction 
of sin, especially the defilement of his nature, and the 
sin of unbelief, for the sake of which he is sure to be 
damned, if he findeth not mercy at God's hand, by 
faith in Jesus Christ. This sight and sense of things 
worketh in him sorrow and shame for sin. (Psalm 38 : 
18; Jer.31: 19; John 16 : 8; Rom. 7 : 21; Mark 16: 
16 ; Gal. 2 : 16 ; Rev. 1 : 6.) He findeth, moreover, re- 
vealed in him the Saviour of the world, and the abso- 
lute necessity of closing with him for life ; at the which 
he findeth hungerings and thirstings after him ; to 
which hungerings, &c., the promise is made. Now, ac- 
cordinof to the strens^th or weakness of his faith in his 
Saviour, so is his joy and peace, so is his love to holi- 
ness, so are his desires to know him more, and also to 
serve him in this world. But though I say it dis- 
covereth itself thus into him, yet it is but seldom that 
he is able to conclude that this is a work of grace ; 
because his corr'_ ; ^lons now, and his abused reason, 
make his i:i:dc- uO misjudge in this matter ; therefore 
in hirji j_iz*,t hath this work there is required a very 
souna judgment, before he can with steadiness con- 
clude that this is a work of grace. (John 16 : 9 ; Gal. 
2: 15,16; Acts 4: 12; Matt. 5:6; Rev. 21 : 6.) 

To others it is thus discovered : 1. By an experi- 
mental confession of his faith in Christ. 2. By a life 
answerable to that confession ; to wit, a life of holiness 
— heart-holines^y family-holiness (if he hath a family), 
and by conversation-holiness in the world ; which in 
the general teacheth him inwardly to abhor his sin, 
and himself for that, in secret ; to suppress it in his 
family, and to promote holiness in the world : not by 
talk only, as a hypocrite, or talkative person may do, 



lyo THE /'ILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

but by a practical subjection in faith and love to the 
power of the word. (Job 42 : 5, 9 ; Psalm 50 : 23 ; Ezek. 
20 ; 43 ; Matt. 6:8; John 14 : 15 ; Rom. 10 : 10 ; Ezek. 
36 : 25 ; Phil. 1 : 27 ; 3 : 17-20). And now, sir, as to 
this brief description of the work of grace, and also 
the discovery of it, if you have aught to object, object ; 
if not, then give me leave to propound to you a second 
question. 

Talk. Nay, my part is not now to object, but to 
hear; let me, therefore, have your second question. 

Faith. It is this : Do you experience this first part 
of the description of it ; and doth your life and conver- 
sation testify the same? Or standeth your religion 
in word or tongue, and not in deed and truth? Pray, 
if you incline to answer me in this, say no more than 
you know the God above will say Amen to, and also 
nothing but what your conscience can justify you in ; 
for not he that commendeth himself is approved, but 
whom the Lord commendeth. Besides, to say I am 
thus and thus, when my conversation, and all my 
neighbors, tell me I lie, is great wickedness. 

Then Talkative at first began to blush ; but recover- 
ing himself, he thus replied : You come now to experi- 
ence, to conscience, and to God ; and to appeal to Him 
for justification of what is spoken. This kind of dis- 
course I did not expect ; nor am I disposed to give an 
answer to such questions, because I count not myself 
bound thereto, unless you take upon you to be a 
catechioer ; and though you should so do, yet I may 
refuse to make you my judge. But I pray, will you 
tell me why you ask me such questions? 

Faith. Because I saw you forward to talk, and be- 
cause 1 knew not that you had aught else but notion. 
Besides, to tell you the truth, I have heard of you that 
you are a man whose religion lies in talk, and that 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 171 

Vour convorsation gives this your mouth-profession the 
lico They say you are a spot among Christians, and 
that religion fareth the worse for your ungodly conver- 
sation; that some have already stumbled at your wicked 
ways, r.iid that more are in danger of being destroyed 
thereby : your religion, and an ale-house, and covetous- 
ness and uncleanness, and swearing, and lying, and 
vain company-keeping, «fcc., will stand together. The 
proverb is true of you which is said of a harlot, to wit, 
** That she is a shame to all women : " so are you a 
shame to all professors. 

Talk. Since you are so ready to take up reports, 
and to judge so rashly as you do, I cannot but conclude 
you are some peevish or melancholy man, not fit tc be 
discoursed with ; and so adieu. 

Then up came Christian, and said to his brother, I 
told you how it would happen ; your words and his 
lusts could not agree. He had rather leave your com- 
pany than reform his life. But he is gone, as I said : 
let him go ; the loss is no man's but his own. He has 
saved us the trouble of going from him ; for he con- 
tinuing (as I suppose he will do) as he is, would have 
been but a blot in our company : besides, the Apostle 
says, " From such withdraw thyself." 

Faith. But I am glad we had this little discourse 
with him ; it may happen that he will think of it again : 
however, I have dealt plainly with him, and so am clear 
of his blood if he perisheth. 

Chr. You did well to talk so plainly to him as you 
did. There is but little of this faithful dealing with 
men nov a-days, and that makes religion to stink in the 
nostrils of so many as it doth ; for they are these talk- 
ative fools, whose religion is only in word, and who are 
debauched and vain in their conversation, that (being 
90 much admitted into the fellowship of the godly) do 



1^2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

puzzle the world, blemish Christianity, and grieve the 
sincere. I wish that all men would deal with such as 
you have done then should they either be made more 
3onformable to religion, or the company of saints would 
be too hot for them. 

Then did Faithful say, 

** How Talkative at first lifts up his plames I 
How bravely doth he speak ! How he presumes 
To drive down all before him ! But so soon 
As Faithful talks of heart- work, like the moon 
That's past the full, into the wane he goes ; 
And so will all but he that heart-work knows." 

Thus they went on, talking of what they had seen 
by the way, and so made that way easy -"vhich v/ould 
otherwise no dcuLt have been tedious to them, for now 
they went through a wilderness. 



THE SIXTH STAGE. 

Now when they were got almost quite out of this 
wilderness, Faithful chanced to cast his eye back, and 
espied one cominp; after them, and he knew him. Oh ! 
said Faithful to his brothor, who comes yonder ? Then 
Christian looked, and said. It is my good friend Evan- 
gelist. Aye, and my good friend too, said Faithful, 
for 'twas he that set me on the way to the gate. Now 
was Evangelist come up unto them, and thus saluted 
them. 

Evan. Peace be with you, dearly beloved ; and 
peace be to your helpers. 

Chr. Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist : the 
sight of thy countenance brings to my remembrance thy 
ancient kindness and unwearied labors for my eternal 
good. 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. I >. -j 

Faith. And a thousand times welcome, said good 
Faithful, thy company, oh sweet Evangelist; how de- 
sirable is it to us poor pilgrims ! 

Evan. Then said Evangelist, How hath it fared 
with you, my friends, since the time of our last part- 
ing? What have you met with, and how have you be- 
haved yourselves? 

Then Christian and Faithful told him of all things 
that had happened to them in the way ; and how, and 
with what difficulty, they had arrived to that place. 

Right glad am I, said Evangelist, not that you have 
met with trials, but that you have been victors; and 
for that you have, notwithstanding many weaknesses, 
continued in the way to this very day. 

I say, right glad am I of this thing, and that for 
mine own sake and yours : I have sowed, and you have 
reaped ; and the day is coming, when " both he that 
soweth, and they that reap, shall rejoice together " 
(John 4 : 36) ; that is, if you hold out : " for in due 
season ye shall reap, if ye faint not." (Gal. 6 : 9.) The 
crown is before you, and it is an incorruptible one; 
" so run that ye may obtain it." (1 Cor. 9 : 24-27.) 
Some there be that set out for this crown, and after 
they have gone far for it, another comes in and takes 
it from them ; " hold that fast which thou hast, that no 
man take thy crown." (Rev. 3 : 11.) You are not yet 
out of the gunshot of the devil ; " you have not resisted 
unto blood, striving against sin." Let the kingdom be 
always before you, and believe steadfastly concerning 
the things that are invisible. Let nothing that is on 
this side the other world get within you. And, above 
all, look well to your own hearts and to the lusts there- 
of; for they are "deceitful above all things, and des- 
perately wi jked." Set your faces like a flint ; you have 
all power in heaven and earth on your side. 



174 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Chr. Then Christian thanked him for his exhortj^ 
tions ; but told him withal, that they would have hire: 
speak further to them for their help the rest of the 
way ; and the rather, for that they well knew that he 
was a prophet, and could tell them of things that might 
happen unto them, and also how they might resist and 
overcome them. To which request Faithful also con- 
sented. So Evangelist began as foUoweth : 

Evan. My sons, you have heard in the word of the 
truth of the Gospel, that you must " through many 
tribulations enter into the Kingdom of Heaven ; " and 
again, that " in every city, bonds and afflictions abide 
you ; " and therefore you cannot expect that you should 
go long on your pilgrimage without them, in some sort 
or other. You have found something: of the truth of 
these testimonies upon you alread}^, and more will im- 
mediately follow : for now, as you see, you are almost 
out of this wilderness, and therefore you will soon 
come into a town that you will by and by see before 
you ; and in that town you will be hardly beset with 
enemies, who still strain hard but they will kill you ; 
and be you sure that one or both of you must seal the 
testimony which you hold, with blood ; but " be you 
faithful unto death, and the King will give you a crown 
of life." He that shall die there, although his death 
will be unnatural, and his pain, perhaps, great, he will 
yet have the better of his fellow ; not only because he 
will be arrived at the Celestial City soonest, but be- 
cause he will escape many miseries that the other will 
meet with in the rest of his journey. But when you 
are come to the town, and shall find fulfilled what I 
have here related, then remember your friend, and quit 
yourselves like men, and '' commit the keeping of your 
souls to God in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator." 
Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PR O GRESS. 1 7 r 

out of the wilderness, they presently saw a town be- 
fore them, and the name of that town is Vanity; and at 
the town there is a fair kept, called Vanity Fair. It is 
kept all the year long. It beareth the name of Vanity 
Fair, because the town where it is kept is lighter than 
vanity (Psa. 62: 9); and also because all that is there 
sold, or that cometh thither, is vanity ; as is the saying 
of the wise, '' All that cometh is vanity." (Eccl. 11:8, 
see also 1: 2-14; 2; 11-17; Isa. 40: 17.) 

This fair is no new-erected business, but a thins: of 
ancient standing. I will show you the original of it. 

Almost five thousand years ago there were pilgrims 
walking to the Celestial City, as these two honest per- 
sons are : and Beelzebub, Apollyon, and Legion, with 
their companions, perceiving by the path the pilgrims 
made, that their way to the city lay through this town 
of Vanity, they contrived here to set up a fair ; a fair 
wherein should be sold all sorts of vanity, and that it 
should last all the year long. Therefore, at this fair are 
all such merchandise sold as houses, lands, trades, places, 
honors, preferments, titles, countries, kingdoms, lusts, 
pleasures ; and delights of all sorts, as harlots, wives, 
husbands, children, masters, servants, lives, blood, bod- 
ies, souls, silver, gold, pearls, precious stones, and what 
not. 

And moreover, at this fair there is at all times to be 
seen jugglings, cheats, games, plays, fools, apes, knaves, 
and rogues, and that of every kind. 

Here are to be seen, too, and that for nothing, thefts, 
murders, adulteries, false-swearers, and that of a blood- 
red color. 

And, as in other fairs of less moment, tnere are the 
several rows and streets under their proper names, 
where such and such wares are vended ; so here, like* 
wise, you have the proper places, rows, streets (namely, 



,76 T-HE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

countries and kingdoms), where the wares of this fair 
are soonest to be found. Here is the Britain Row, the 
French Row, the Italian Row, the Spanish Row, the 
German Row, wliere several sorts of vanities are to be 
sold. But, as in other fairs, some one commodity is the 
chief of all the fair, so the ware of Rome and her mer- 
chandise is greatly promoted in this fair; only our 
English nation, with some others, have taken a dislike 
thereat. 

Now, as I said, the way to the Celestial City lies 
just through this town where this lusty fair is kept ; 
and lie that would go to the city, and 3^et not go through 
this town, "must needs go out of the world." (1 Cor. 
4: 10.) The Prince of princes himself, when here, went 
through this town to his own country, and that upon a 
fair-day, too ; yea, and, as I think ic was Beelzebub, the 
chiei lord of this fair, that invited him to buy of his 
vanities, yea, would have made him lord of the fair, 
would he but have done him reverence as he went 
through the town. Yea, because he was such a person 
of houor, Beelzebub had him from street to street, and 
showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a little 
time, that he might, if possible, allure that blessed One 
to cheapen and buy some of his vanities : but he had no 
mind to the merchandise, and therefore left the towil, 
without laying out so much as one farthing upon these 
vanities. (Matt. 4: 8, 9 ; Luke 4: 5-7.) This fair, 
therefore, is an ancient thing, of long standing, and a 
ver\^ great fair. 

Now, these pilgrims, as I said, must needs go through 
this fair. Well, so they did ; but behold, even as they 
entered into the fair, all the people in the fair were 
moved; and "ihe town itself, as it were, in a hubbub 
about tli>*Bj, k^ tliat for several reasons : for, 

Fii^t, The Pilgrims were clothed with such kind of 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 1 7 y 

raiment as was diverse from the raiment of any that 
traded in that fair. The people, therefore, of the fair, 
made a great gazing upon them : some said they were 
fools (1 Cor. 4 : 9, 10) ; some, they were bedlams ; and 
some, they were outlandish men. 

Secondly, And as they wondered at their apparel, 
so they did likewise at their speech ; for few could un- 
derstand what they said. They naturally spoke the 
language of Canaan ; but they that kept the fair were 
the men of this world : so that from one end of the fair 
to the other, they seemed barbarians each to the other. 
(1 Cor. 2 : 7, 8.) 

Thirdljr, But that which did not a little amuse the 
merchandisers was, that these pilgrims set very light by 
all their wares. They cared not so much as to look 
upon them ; and if they called upon them to buy, they 
would put their fingers in their ears, and cry, " Tarn 
away mine eyes from beholding vanity," (Psa. 119 : 37), 
and look upward, signifying that their trade or traffic 
was in heaven. (Phil. 3 : 20, 21.) 

One chanced, mockingly, beholding the carriage of 
the men, to say unto them, " What will ye buy ? " But 
they, looking gravely upon him, said, "We buy the 
truth." (Prov. 23 : 23.) At that there was an occasion 
taken to despise the men the more; some mocking, 
some taunting, some speaking reproachfully, and some 
calling upon others to smite them. At last, things came 
to a hubbub and great stir in the fair, insomuch that 
all order was confounded. Now was word presently 
brought to the great one of the fair, who quickly came 
down, and deputed some of his most trusty friends to 
take those men into examination about whom the fair 
was almost overturned. So the men were brought to 
examination ; and they that sat upon them asked them 
whence they came, whither they went, and what they 



,y8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Aid there in such an unusual garb. The men told them 
ihey were pilgrims and strangers in the world, and that 
they were goiug to th^^ir own country, which was the 
heavenly Jerusalem (Heb. 11 : 13-16) ; and that they 
had given no occasion to the men of the town, nor yet 
to the merchandisers, thus to abuse them, and to let 
them in their journey, except it was for that, when one 
asked them what they would buy, they said they would 
buy the truth. But they that were appointed to exam- 
ine them did not believe them to be any other than 
bedlams and mad, or else such as came to put all things 
into a confusion in the fair. Therefore they took them 
and beat them, and besmeared them with dirt, and then 
put them into the cage, that they might be made a 
spectacle to all the men of the fair. There, therefore, 
they lay for some time, and were made the objects of 
any man's sport, or malice, or revenge ; the great one 
of the fair laughing still at all that befell them. But 
the men being patient, and '' not rendering railing for 
railing, but contrariwise blessing," and giving good 
words for bad, and kindness for injuries done, some men 
in the fair, that were more observing and less prejudiced 
than the rest, began to check and blame the baser sort 
for their continual abuses done by them to the men- 
They, therefore, in an angry manner let fly at them 
again, counting them as bad as the men in the cage, and 
tellins: them that they seemed confederates, and should 
be made partakers of their misfortunes. The others re- 
plied that, for aught they could see, the men were quiet 
and sober, and intended nobody any harm; and that 
there were many that traded in their fair that were 
more worthy to be put into the cage, yea, and pillory 
too, than were the men that they had abused. Thus, 
after divers words had passed on both sides (the men 
behaving themselves all the while very wisely and so 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 1 7 9 

berly before them), they fell to some blows among them- 
selves, and did harm one to another. Then were these 
two poor men brought before their examiners again, 
and were charged as being guilty of the late hubbub 
that had been in the fair. So they beat them pitifully, 
and hanged irons upon them, and led them in chains up 
and down the fair, for an example and terror to others, 
lest any should speak in their behalf, or join themselves 
unto them. But Christian and Faithful behaved them- 
selves yet more wisely, and received the ignomin}?- and 
shame that was cast upon them with so much meekness 
and patience, that it won to their side (though but few 
in comparison of the rest) several of the men in the 
fair. This put the other party yet into a greater rage, 
insomuch that they concluded the death of these two 
men. Wherefore they threatened that neither cage nor 
irons should serve their turn, but that they should die 
for the abuse they had done, and for deluding the men 
of the fair. 

Then were they remanded to the cage again, until 
further order should be taken with them. So they put 
them in and made their feet fast in the stocks. 

Here, also, they called again to mind what they had 
heard from their faithful friend Evangelist, and were 
the more confirmed in their wa}^ and sufferings by what 
he told them would happen to them. They also now 
comforted each other, that whose lot it was to suffer, 
even he should have the best of it: therefore each man 
secretly wished that he might have that preferment. 
But committing themselves to the all-wise disposal of 
Him that ruleth all things, with much content they 
abode in the condition in which they were, until they 
should be otherwise disposed of. 

Then a convenient time being appointed, they 
brought them forth to their trial, in order to their con- 



XSO ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

demnation. When the time was come, they were 
brought before their enemies and arraigned. The 
judge's name was Lord Hategood; their indictment 
was one and the same in substance, though somewhat 
varying in form ; the contents whereof was this : " That 
they were enemies to, and disturbers of, the trade r that 
the}^ had made commotions and divisions in the town, 
and had won a party to their own most dangerous opin- 
ions, in contempt of the law of their prince." 

Then Faithful began to answer, that he had only 
set himself against that which had set itself against 
Him that is higher than the highest. And, said he, as 
for disturbance, I make none, being myself a man of 
peace : the parties that were won to us, were won by 
beholding our truth and innocence, and they are only 
turned from the worse to the better. And as to the 
king you talk of, since he is Beelzebub, the enemy of 
our Lord, I defy him and all his angels. 

Then proclamation was made, that they that had 
alight to say for their lord the king against the prisoner 
at the bar, should forthwith appear, and give in their 
evidence. So there came in three witnesses, to wit, 
Envy, Superstition, and Pickthank. They were then 
asked if they knew the prisoner at the bar ; and what 
they had to say for their lord the king against him. 
Then stood forth Envy, and said to this effect : My 
lord, I have known this man a long rime, and will attest 
upon my oath, before this honorable bench, that he 
is — 

Judge. Hold ; give him his oath. 

So they sware him. Then he said. My lord, this 
man, notwithstanding his plausible name, is one of the 
vilest men in our country ; he neither regarded prince 
nor people, law nor custom, but doeth all that he can 
to possess all men with certain of his disloyal notions. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. l8i 

which he in the general calls principles of faith and 
holiness. And in particular, I heard him once myself 
affirm, that Christianity and the customs of our town of 
Vanity were diametrically opposite, and could not be 
reconciled. By which saying, my lord, he doth at once 
not only condemn all our laudable doings, but us in the 
doing of them. 

Then did the judge say to him, Hast thou any more 
to say ? 

Envy. My lord, I could say much more, only I 
would not be tedious to the court. Yet if need be, 
when the other gentlemen have given in their evidence, 
rather than anything shall be wanting that will dispatch 
him, I will enlarge my testimony against him. So he 
was bid to stand by. 

Then they called Superstition, and bid him look 
upon the prisoner. They also asked, what he could 
say for their lord the king against him. Then they 
sware him; so he began. 

Super. My lord, I have no great acquaintance with 
this man, nor do I desire to have further knowledge of 
him. However, this I know, that he is a very pestilent 
fellow, from some discourse that I had with him the 
other day, in this town ; for then, talking with him, I 
heard hira say, that oor religion was naught, and such 
by which a man could by no means please God. Which 
saying of his, my lord, your lordship very well knows 
what necessarily thence will follow, to wit, that we still 
do worship in vain, are j^et in our sins, and finally 
shall be damned : and this is that which I have to say. 

Then was Pickthank sworn, and bid say what he 
knew in the behalf of their lord the king against the 
prisoner at the bar. 

Pick. My lord, and you gentlemen all, this fellow I 
bave known of a long time, and have heard him speai 



t83 THE PILGRIM s PROGRESS. 

things that ought not to be spoken ; for he hath railed 
on our noble prince Beelzebub, and hath spoken con- 
temptibly of his honorable friends, whose names are, 
the Lord Oldman, the Lord Carnal Delight, the Lord 
Luxurious, the Lord Desire of Vain Glory, my old Lord 
Lechery, Sir Having Greedy, with all the rest of our 
nobility: and he hath said, moreover, that if all men 
were of his mind, if possible, there is not one of these 
noblemen should have any longer a being in this town. 
Besides, he hath not been afraid to rail on you, my lord, 
who are now appointed to be his judge, calling you an 
ungodly villain, with many other such like vilifying 
terms, with which he hath bespattered most of the gen* 
try of our town. 

When this Pickthank had told his tale, the judge 
directed his speech to the prisoner at the bar, sayings 
Thou renegade, heretic, and traitor, hast thou heard 
what these honest gentlemen have witnessed against 
thee? 

Faith. May I speak a few words in my own de- 
fence ? 

Judge. Sirrah, thou deservest to live no xonger, 
but to be slain immediately upon the place ; yet, that 
all men may see our gentleness towards thee, let us 
hear what thou, vile renegade, hast to say. 

Faith. 1. I say, then, in answer to what Mr. Envy 
hath spoken, I never said aught but this, that what 
rule, or laws, or custom, or people, were flat against the 
word of God, are diametrically opposite to Christianity. 
If I have said amiss in this, convince me of my error^ 
and I am ready here before you to make my recantac 
tion. 

2. As to the second, to wit, Mr. Superstition, and 
his charge against me, I said only this, that in the wor- 
ship of God there is required a divine faith ; but thej-e 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 183 

can be no divine faith without a divine revelation of 
the will of God. Therefore, whatever is thrust into the 
worship of God that is not agreeable to divine revela- 
tion, cannot be done but by a human faith ; which faith 
will not be profitable to eternal life. 

3. As to what Mr. Pickthank hath said, I say (avoid- 
ing terms, as that I am said to rail, and the like), that 
the prince of this town, with all the rabblement, his 
attendants, by this gentleman named, are more fit foi 
a being in hell than in this town and country. And so 
the Lord have mercy upon me. 

Then the judge called to the jury (who all this 
while stood by to hear and observe), Gentlemen of the 
jury, you see this man about whom so great an uproar 
hath been made in this town; you have also heard 
what these worthy gentlemen have witnessed against 
him ; also, you have heard his reply and confession : it 
lieth now in your breasts to hang him, or save his life , 
but yet I think meet to instruct you in our law. 

There was an act made in the days of Pharaoh the 
Great, servant to our prince, that, lest those of a con- 
trary religion should multiply and grow too strong for 
Aim, their males should be thrown into the river. 
(Exod. 1 : 22.) There was also an act made in the 
days of Nebuchadnezzar the Great, another of his ser- 
vants, that whoever would not fall down and worship 
his golden image, should be thrown into a fiery furnace. 
(Dan. 3 : 6.) There was also an act made in the days 
of Darius, that whoso for some time called upon any 
god but him, should be cast into the lion's den. (Dan. 
6 : 7.) Now, the substance of these laws this rebel hath 
broken, not only in thought (which is not to be borne), 
but also in word and deed ; which must, therefore, needs 
be intolerable. 

For that of Pharaoh, his law was made upon a sup- 



,84 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS,. 

position to prevent mischief, no crime being ret a^ 
parent; but here is a crime apparent. For the second 
and third, you see he disputeth against our religion ; and 
for the treason that he hath already confessed, he de- 
serveth to die the death. 

Then went the jury out, whose names were Mr. 
Blindman, Mr. Nogood, Mr. Malice, Mr. Lovelust, Mr. 
Liveloose, Mr. Heady, Mr. Highmind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. 
Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. Hatelight, and Mr. Implacable ; 
who every one gave in his private verdict against hiiu 
among themselves, and afterwards unanimously con- 
cluded to bring him in guilty before the judge. And firsi 
among themselves, Mr. Blindman, the foreman, said, ] 
see clearly that this man is a heretic. Then said Mr. 
Nogood, Away with such a fellow from the earth. Aye, 
said Mr. Malice, for I hate the very looks of him. Then 
said Mr. Lovelust, I could never endure him. Nor I, 
said Mr. Liveloose, for he would always be condemning 
my waj^ Hang him, hang him, said Mr. Heady. A 
sorry scrub, said Mr. Highmind. My heart riseth 
against him, said Mr. Enmity. He is a rogue, said Mr. 
Liar. Hanging him is too good for him, said Mr. Cru- 
elty. Let us dispatch him out of the way, said Mr. 
Hatelight. Then said Mr. Implacable, Might I have 
all the world given me, I could not be reconciled to 
him ; therefore let us forthwith bring him in guilty of 
death. 

And so they did ; therefore he was presently con- 
demned to be had from the place where he was to the 
place from whence he came, and there to be put to the 
most cruel death that could be invented. 

They therefore brought him out, to do with him ac- 
cording to their law ; and first they scourged him, then 
they buffeted him, then they lanced his flesh with 
knives ; after that, they stoned him with stones, thep 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 185 

pricked him with their swords; and last of all, they 
Durned him to ashes at the stake. Thus came Faithful 
to his end. 

Now I saw, that there stood behind the multitude a 
chariot and a couple of horses waiting for Faithful, who 
(so soon as his adversaries had dispatched him) was 
•taken up into it, and straightway was carried up through 
the clouds with sound of trumpet, the nearest way to 
the celestial gate. But as for Christian, he had some 
respite, and was remanded back to prison ; so he re- 
mained there for a space. But He who overrules all 
things, having the power of their rage in his own hand, 
so wrought it about, that Christian for that time escaped 
them, and went his way. 

And as he went, he sang, saying, 

«* Well, Faithful, thou hast faithfully profest 
Unto thy Lord, with whom thou shalt be blest. 
When Faithless ones, with all their vain delights. 
Are crying out under their hellish plights : 
Sing, Faithful, sing, and let thy name survive ; 
For though they killed thee, thou art yet alive." 



THE SEVENTH STAGE. 

Now I saw in my dream, that Christian went not 
forth alone ; for there was one whose name was Hope- 
ful (being so made by beholding of Christian and Faith 
ful in their words and behavior, in their sufferings at 
the fair), who joined himself unto him, and entering 
into a brotherly covenant, told him that he would be 
his companion. Thus one died to bear testimony to 
the truth, and another rises out of his ashes to be a 



,86 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

companion with Christian in his pilgrimage. This 
Hopeful also told Christian that there were many more 
of the men in the fair that would take their time and 
follow after. 

So I saw, that quickly after they were got out oi 
the fair, they overtook one that was going before tliem, 
whose name was B}' ends ; so they said to him, What 
countryman, sir ? and how far go you this way? He 
told them that he came from the town of Fairspeech, 
and that he was going to the Celestial City ; but told 
them not his name. 

From Fairspeech ? said Christian ; is there any good 
that lives there? (Pro v. 26 : 25.) 

By. Yes, said Byends, I hope so. 

Chr. Pray, sir, what may I call you ? said Christian. 

By. I am a stranger to you, and you to me ; if you 
be going this way, I shall be glad of your company ; if 
not, I must be content. 

Chr. This town of Fairspeech, said Christian, I 
have heard of; and, as I remember, they say it's a 
wealthy place. 

By. Yes, I will assure you that it is ; and I have 
very many rich kindred there. 

Chr. Pray, who are your kindred there, if a man 
may be so bold ? 

By. Almost the whole town ; but in particular my 
Lord Turnabout, my Lord Timeserver, my Lord Fair- 
speech, from whose ancestors that town first took its 
name ; also, Mr. Smoothman, Mr. Facingbothways, Mr. 
Anything; and the parson of our parish, Mr. TwO' 
tongues, was my mother's own brother, by father's side , 
and, tell you the truth, I am become a gentleman of 
good quality ; yet my great-grandfather was but a 
waterman, looking one way and rowing another, and I 
got most of my estate by the same occupation. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. igy 

Chr. Are you a married man ? 

By. Yes, and my wife is a very virtuous woman, 
Ihe daughter of a virtuous woman ; she was my Lady 
Feigning's daughter; therefore she came of a very 
honorable family, and is arrived to such a pitch of 
breeding that she knows how to carry it to all, even to 
prince and peasant. 'Tis true, we somewhat differ in 
religion from those of the stricter sort, yet but in two 
small points; First, we never strive against wind and 
tide. Secondly, we are always most zealous when re- 
ligion goes in \i\% silver slippers ; we love much to walk 
with him in the street, if the sun shines and the people 
applaud him. 

Then Christian stepped a little aside to his fellow 
Hopeful, saying, It runs in my mind that this is one 
Byends, of Fairspeech ; and if it be he, we have as 
very a knave in our company as dwelleth in all these 
parts. Then said Hopeful, Ask him; methinks he 
should not be ashamed of his name. So Christian 
came up with him again, and said. Sir, you talk as if 
you knew something more than all the world doth ; 
and, if I take not my mark amiss, I deem I have half a 
guess of you. Is not your name Mr. Byends, of Fair- 
speech ? 

By. This is not my name, but indeed it is a nick- 
name that is given me by some that cannot abide me, 
and I must be content to bear it as a reproach, as other 
good men have borne theirs before me. 

Chr. But did you never give an occasion to men to 
call you by this name ? 

By. Never, never ! The worst that ever I did to 
give them an occasion to give me this name was, that I 
had always the luck to jump in my judgment with the 
present way of the times, whatever it was, and my chance 
was to get thereby : but if things are thus cast upon mo. 



,gg THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

let me count them a blessing ; but let not the malicious 
load me therefore with reproach. 

Chr. I thought, indeed, that you were the man 
that I heard of ; and to tell you what I ihink, I fear 
this name belongs to you more properly than you are 
willing: we should think it doth. 

By. Well if you will thus imagine, I cannot help it ,- 
you shall find me a fair company-keeper, if you will stiU 
admit me your associate. 

Chr. If you will go with us, you must go against 
wind and tide , the which, I perceive, is against youi 
opinion : you must also own Religion in his rags, as 
well as when in his silver slippers ; and stand by him, 
too, when bound in irons, as well as when he walketh 
the streets with applause. 

By. You must not impose, nor lord it over my 
faith ; leave me to my liberty, and let me go Avith you. 

Chr. Not a step farther, unless you will do, in what 
I propound, as we. 

Then said Byends, I shall never desert my old prin- 
ciples, since they are harmless and profitable. If I may 
not go with you, I must do as I did before 3-0 u overtook 
me, even go by myself, until some overtake me thai 
will be glad of my company. 

Now I saw in my dream, that Christian and Hope- 
ful forsook him, and kept their distance before him; 
but one of them, looking back, saw three men follow- 
ing Mr. Byends ; and, behold, as they came up with him, 
he made them a very low congee ; and they also gave 
him a compliment. The men's names were, Mr. Hold- 
theworld, Mr. Moneylove, and Mr. Saveall, men that 
Mr. Byends had formerly been acquainted with ; for in 
their minority they were schoolfellows, and were taught 
bv one Mr. Gripeman, a schoolmaster in Lovegain, 
which is a market-town in the countv of Coveting-, in 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. igrt 

the North. This schoolmaster taught them the art of 
getting, either by violence, cozenage, flattering, lying, 
or by putting on a guise of religion ; and these four 
gentlemen had attained much of the art of their master, 
so that they could each of them have kept such a school 
themselves. 

Well, when they had, as I said, thus saluted each 
other, Mr. Moneylove said to Mr. Byends, Who are they 
upon the road before us ? For Christian and Hopeful 
were yet within view. 

By. They are a couple of far-countrymen, that, after 
their mode, are going on pilgrimage. 

Money. Alas I why did they not stay, that we might 
have had their good company ? for they, and we, and 
you, sir, I hope, are all going on pilgrimage. 

By. We are so, indeed ; but the men before us are 
so rigid, and love so much their own notions, and do 
also so lightly esteem the opinions of others, that let a 
man be never so godly, yet if he jumps not with them 
in all things, they thrust him quite out of their com- 
pany. 

Save. That is bad ; but we read of some that are 
righteous over much, and such men's rigidness prevails 
with them to judge and condemn all but themselves. 
But I pray, what, and how many, were the things 
wherein you differed ? 

By. Why they, after their headstrong manner, con- 
elude that it is their duty to rush on their journey all 
weathers ; and I am for waiting for wind and tide. 
They are for hazarding all for God at a clap ; and I am 
for taking all advantages to secure my life and estate. 
They are for holding their notions, though all other 
men be against them ; but I am for religion in what and 
so far as the times and my safety will bear it. They 
a.re for religion when in rags and contempt ; but I ?m 



^^o THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

for him wlien he walks in his silver slippers, in the sun- 
shine, and with applause. 

HoLDTHEWORLD. Aye, and hold you there still, 
good Mr. Byends ; for, for my part, I can count him buL 
a fool, that, having the liberty to keep what he has, 
shall be so unwise as to lose it. Let us be wise as ser- 
pents. It is best to make hay while the sun shines. 
You see how the bee lieth still all winter, and bestirs 
her only when she can have profit with pleasure. God 
sends sometimes rain, and sometimes sunshine : if they 
be such fools to go through the first, yet let us be con. 
tent to take fair weather along with us. For my part, 
I like that religion best that will stand with the secur- 
ity of God's good blessings unto us ; for who can imag 
ine, that is ruled by his reason, since God has bestowed 
upon us the good things of this life, but that he would 
have us keep them for his sake ? Abraham and Solo- 
mon grew rich in religion ; and Job says, that a good 
man shall lay up gold as dust ; but he must not be 
such as the men before us, if they be as you have de- 
scribed them. 

Save. I think that we are all agreed in this matter; 
and therefore there needs no more words about it. 

Money. No, there needs no more words about this 
matter, indeed ; for he that believes neither Scripture 
nor reason (and you see we have both on our side) 
neither knows his own liberty nor seeks his own safety. 

By. My brethren, we are, as you see, going all on 
pilgrimage ; and, for our better diversion from things 
that are bad, give me leave to propound unto you this 
question : 

Suppose a man, a minister, or a tradesman, &c., 
should have an advantage lie before him to get the good 
blessings of this life, yet so as that he can by no means 
come by them, except, in appearance at least, he b©» 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, iq | 

comes u!jt4.i». ordinary zealous in some points of religion 
that he meddled not with before; may he not use this 
means to attain his end, and yet be a right honest man? 
Money. ■ I see at the bottom of your question ; and 
with these gentlemen's good leave, I will endeavor tt^ 
shape you an answer. And first, to speak to your ques- 
tion as it concerneth a minister himself: suppose a min- 
ister, a worthy man, possessed but of a very small bene 
fice, and has in his eye a greater, more fat and plum^ 
by far ; he has also now an opportunity of getting it, 
yet so as by being more studious, by preaching more 
frequently and zealously, and because the temper of the 
people requires it, by altering of some of his principles ; 
for my part, I see no reason why a man may not do 
this, provided he has a call, aye, and more a great deal 
besides, and yet be an honest man. For why? 

1. His desire of a greater benefice is lawful (this 
cannot be contradicted), since it is set before him by 
Providence ; so then he may get it if he can, making no 
question for conscience sake. 

2. Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him 
more studious, a more zealous preacher, &c., and so 
makes him a better man ; yea, makes him better im« 
prove his parts, which is according to the mind of God. 

3. Now, as for his complying with the temper of his 
people, by deserting, to serve them, some of his prin- 
ciples, this argueth, 1. That he is of a self-denying 
temper. 2. Of a sweet and winning deportment. And, 
3. So more fit for the mnisterial function. 

'\. I conclude, then, that a minister that changes a 
small for a great, should not, for so doing, be judged as 
covetous ; but rather, since he is improved in his parts 
and industry thereby, be counted as one tl\^,t p^?:^«iiT^3 
his call, and the opportunity out into his hand to do 
erood 



jg2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

And now to the second part of the question, whicli 
concerns the tradesman you mentioned. Supjjose such 
an one to have but a poor employ in the world, but by 
becoming religious he may mend his market, perhaps 
get a rich wife, or more and far better customers to his 
shop ; for my part, I see no reason but this may be law- 
fully done. For why? 

1. To become religious is a virtue, by what means 
soever a man becomes so. 

2. Nor is it unlawful to get a rich wife, or more 
custom to my shop. 

3. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming re* 
ligious, gets that which is good of them that are good, 
by becoming good himself ; so then here is a good wife, 
and good customers, and good gain, and all these by 
becoming religious, which is good : therefore, to become 
religious to get all these is a good and profitable design. 

This answer, thus made by Mr. Moneylove to Mr. 
Byends' question, was highly applauded by them all ; 
wherefore they concluded, upon the whole, that it was 
most wholesome and advantageous. And because, as 
they thought, no man was able to contradict it; and 
because Christian and Hopeful were yet within calli 
they jointly agreed to assault them with the question 
as soon as they overtook them ; and thv3 rather, because 
they had opposed Mr. Byends before. So they called 
after them, and they stopped and stood still till they 
came up to them ; but they concluded, as they went, 
that not Mr. Byends, but old Mr. Holdtheworld should 
propound the question to them, because, as they sup- 
posed, their answer to him would be without the re- 
mainder of that heat that was kindled betwixt Mr. By- 
ends and them at their parting a little before. 

So they came up to each other, and after a short 
salutation, Mr. Holdtheworld propounded the questioD 



THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS, ,g, 

JO Christian and his fellow, and then bid them to answer 

it if they could. 

Then said Christian, Even a babe in religion niaj 
answer ten thousand such questions. For if it be un- 
lawful to follow Christ for loaves, as it is (John 6 : 26), 
how much more abominable is it to make of him and 
religion a stalking-horse to get and enjoy the world! 
Nor do we find any other than heathens, hypocrites? 
devils, and witches, that are of this opinion. 

1. Heathens : for when Hamor and Shechem had a 
mind to the daughter and cattle of Jacob, and saw that 
there was no wa}^ to come at them but by being circum- 
cised, they said to their companions. If every male of us 
be circumcised, as they are circumcised, shall not their 
cattle, and their substance, and every beast of theirs be 
ours? Their daughters and their cattle were that 
which they sought to obtain, and their religion the 
stalking-horse they made use of to come at them. Read 
the whole story (Gen. 34: 20-24). 

2. Th^ hypocritical Pharisees were also of this re* 
ligion: long prayers were their pretence, but to get 
widows' houses was their intent ; and greater damna- 
tion was from God their judgment. (Luke 20 : 46, 47.) 

3. Judas the devil was also of this religion : he was 
religious for the bag, that he might be possessed of 
what was put therein ; but he was lost, cast away, and 
the very son of perdition. 

4. Simon the wizard was of this religion too ; for he 
would have had the Holy Ghost, that he might have 
got money therewith : and his sentence from Peter's 
mouth was according. (Acts 8 : 19-22.) 

5. Neither will it out of my mind, but that that 
man who takes up religion for the world, will throw 
away religion for the world ; for so surely as Judas de- 
signed the world in becoming religious, so surely did 



jg^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

he also sell religion and his Master for the same. T© 
answer the question, therefore, affirmatively, as I per- 
ceive you have done, and to accept of, as authentic, 
such answer is heathenish, hypocritical, and devilish; 
and your reward will be according to your works. 

Then they stood staring one upon another, but had 
not wherewith to answer Christian. Hopeful also ap- 
proved of the soundness of Christian's answer , so there 
was a great silence among them. Mr. Byends and his 
company also staggered and kept behind, that Christian 
and Hopeful might outgo them. Then said Christian 
to his fellow. If these men can not stand before the sen- 
tence of men, what will they do with the sentence of 
God ? And if they are mute when dealt with by vessels 
of clay, what will they do when chey shall be rebuked 
by the flames of a devouring fire ? 

Then Christian and Hopeful outwent them again, 
and went till they came at a delicate plain, called Ease, 
where they went with much content ; but that plain 
was but narrow, so they were quickly got over it. Now 
at the farther side of that plain was a little hill, called 
Lucre, and in that hill a silver-mine, which some of 
them that had formerly gone that way, because of the 
rarity of it, had turned aside to see ; but going too near 
the brim of the pit, the ground, being deceitful under 
them, broke, and they were slain : some also had been 
maimed there, and could not, to their dying day, be 
their own men again. 

Then I saw in my dream, that a little off the road, 
over against the silver-mine, stood Demas (gentleman- 
like) to call passengers to come and s e , who said to 
Christian and his fellow, Ho ! turn aside hither, and I 
will show you a thing. 

Cpir. What thing so deserving as to turn us out of 
the wav to see it ? 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 195 

Demas. Here is a silver-mine, and some digging ia 
it for treasure : if you will come, with a little pains you 
may richly provide for yourselves. 

Hope. Then said Hopeful, Let us go see. 

Chr. Not I, said Christian : I have heard of this 
place before now, and how many have there been slain • 
and besides, that treasure is a snare to those that seek 
it, for it hindereth them in their pilgrimage. 

Then Christian called to Demas, saying, Is not the 
place dangerous ? Hath it not hindered many in their 
pilgrimage ? (Hosea 9:6.) 

Demas. Not very dangerous, except to those that 
are careless ; but withal he blushed as he spake. 

Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful, Let us not 
stir a step, but still keep on our way. 

Hope. I will warrant you, when By ends comes up, 
if he hath the same invitation as we, he will turn in 
thither to see. 

Chr. No doubt thereof, for his principles lead him 
\ihat way, and a hundred to one but he dies there. 

Demas. Then Demas called again, sa^^ng, But will 
you not come over and see ? 

Chr. Then Christian roundly answered, saying, 
Demas, thou art an enemy to the right ways of the 
Lord of this way, and hast beeit already condemned for 
thine own turning aside, by one of his Majesty's judges 
(2 Tim. 4; 10); and why seekest thou to bring us into 
the like condemnation ? Besides, if we at all turn 
aside, our Lord the King will certainly hear thereof, 
and will there put us to shame, where we would stand 
with boldness before him. 

Demas cried again, that he also was one of their fra- 
ternity ; and that if they would tarry a little, he also 
himself would walk with thetii. 



I g6 THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 

Chr. Then said Christian, What is thy name ? Is 
it not the same by which I have called thee ? 

Demas. Yes, my name is Demas ; I am the son of 
Abraham. 

Chr. I know you: Gehazi was your great-grand- 
father, and Judas your father, and you have trod in 
their steps; it is but a devilish prank that thou usest; 
thy father was hanged for a traitor, and thou deservest 
no better reward. (2 Kings, 5 : 20-27 ; Matt. 26 : 14, 15 ; 
27: 3-5.) Assure thyself, that when we come to the 
King, we will tell him of this thy behavior. Thus they 
went their way. 

By this time Byends and his companions were come 
ao^ain within sio^ht, and thev at the first beck went over 
to Demas. Now, whether they fell into the pit by 
looking over the brink thereof, or whether they went 
down to dig, or whether they were smothered in the 
bottom by the damps that commonly arise, of these 
things I am not certain ; but this I observed, that they 
were never seen again in the way. Then sang Christian, 

*' Byends and silver Demas both agree ; 
One calls, the other runs, that he may be 
A sharer in his lucre : so these two 
Take up in this world, and no farther go.*' 

Now I saw that, just on the other side of this plain, 
the pilgrims came to a place where stood an old monu- 
ment, hard by the highway-side, at the sight of which 
they were both concerned, because of the strangeness 
of the form thereof ; for it seemed to them as if it had 
been a woman transformed into the shape of a pillar. 
Here, therefore, they stood looking and looking upon 
it, but could not for a time tell what they should make 
thereof. At last Hopeful espied, written above upon 
the head thereof, a writing in an unusual hand ; but he 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 197 

being no scholar, called to Christian (for he was learned) 
io see if he could pick out the meaning : so he came, 
and after a little laying of the letters together, he found 
the same to be this, " Remember Lot's wife." So he 
read it to his fellow ; after which they both concluded 
that that was the pillar of salt into which Lot's wife 
was turned, for her looking back with a covetous heart 
when she was going from Sodom for safety. (Gen. 19: 
26.) Which sudden and amazing sight gave them occa- 
sion for this discourse. 

Chr. Ah, my brother, this is a seasonable sight : it 
came opportunely to us after the invitation which 
Demas gave us to come over to view the hill Lucre ; 
and had we gone over, as he desired us, and as thou 
wast inclined to do, my brother, we had, for aught I 
know, been made, like this woman, a spectacle for those 
that shall come after to behold. 

Hope. I am sorry that I was so foolish, and am 
made to wonder that I am not now as Lot's wife ; for 
wherein was the difference betwixt her sin and mine ? 
She only looked back, and I had a desire to go see. 
Let grace be adored ; and let me be ashamed that ever 
such a thing should be in mine heart. 

Chr. Let us take notice of what we see here, for 
our help for time to come. This woman escaped one 
judgment, for she fell not by the destruction of Sodom ; 
yet she was destroyed by another. As we see, she is 
turned into a pillar of salt. 

Hope. True, and she ma]^ be to us both caution and 
example : caution, that we should shun her sin ; or a 
sign of what judgment will overtake such as shall not 
be prevented by this caution. So Korah, Dathan, and 
Abiram, with the two hundred and fifty men that per- 
ished in their sin, did also become a sign or example to 
others to beware. (Numb. 16: 31, 32; 26; 9, 10.) But 



,g8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

above all, I muse at one thing, to wit, how Demas and 
his fellows can stand so confidently yonder to look for 
that treasure, which this woman, but for looking behind 
her after (for we read not that she stepped one foot out 
of the way), was turned into a pillar of salt ; especially 
since the judgment which overtook her did make her an 
example, within sight of where they are ; for they can- 
not choose but see her, did they but lift up their eyes. 

Chr. It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth 
that their hearts are grown desperate in the case ; and 
I cannot tell who to compare them to so fitly, as to 
them that pick pockets in the presence of the judge, or 
that will cut purses under the gallows. It is said of 
the men of Sodom, that they were "sinners exceed- 
ingly," because they were sinners, " before the Lord/* 
that is, in His eyesight, and notwithstanding the kind- 
nesses that He had shown them ; for the land of Sodom 
was now like the garden of Eden heretofore. (Gen. 13 : 
10-13.) This, therefore, provoked Him the more to 
jealousy, and made their plague as hot as the fire of the 
Lord out of heaven could make it. And it is most 
rationally to be concluded, that such, even such as these 
Are, that shall sin in the sight, yea, and that too in de- 
spite of such examples that are set continually before 
them, to caution them to the contrary, must be par- 
takers of severest iudp-ments. 

Hope. Doubtless thou hast said the truth; but 
what a mercy is it that neither thou, but especially T, 
am not made myself this example ! This ministereth 
occasion to us to thank God, to fear before Him, and 
always to remember Lot's wife. 

I saw then that they went on their way to a pleasant 
river, which David the king called " the river of God: '* 
but John, "the river of the water of life." (Psalm 65: 
y ; Rev. 22 : 1. 2 , Ezek. 47 • 1--90 Now their way lay 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. i^o 

fust upon the bank of this river : here, therefore, Chris- 
tian and his companion walked with great delight ; they 
drank also of the water of the river, which was pleas- 
ant and enlivening to their weary spirits. Besides, on 
the banks of this river, on either side, were green trees 
with all manner of fruit; and the leaves they ale lO 
prevent surfeits, and other diseases that are incident to 
those that heat their blood by travel. On either side 
of the river was also a meadow, curiously beautified 
with lilies ; and it was green all the year long. In this 
meadow they lay down and slept, for here they might 
lie down safely. (Psalm 23 : 2 ; Isa. 14 : 30.) ^ When 
they awoke they gathered again of the fruits of thu 
trees, and drank again of the water of the river, and 
then lay down again to sleep. Thus they did several 
days and nights. Then they sang, 

" Behold ye how these crystal streams do glide, 
To comfort pilgrims by the highway-side. 
The meadows green, besides their fragrant smell. 
Yield dainties for them ; and he who can tell 
What pleasant fruit, yea, leaves these trees do yield, 
Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field." 

So when they were disposed to go on (for they were 
not as yet at their journey's end), they ate, and drank, 
and departed. 

Now T beheld in my dream, that they had not joar- 
71 eyed far, but the river and the way for a time parted, 
at which they were not a little sorry , yet they durst 
not go out of the way. Now the way from the river 
was rough, and their feet tender by reason of their 
travels ; so the souls of the pilgrims were much dis- 
couraged because of th« way. (Numb. 21 : 4.) Where- 
fore, still as they went on, they wished for a better 
way. Now, a little before them, there was on the left 
hand of the road a meadow, and a stile to sro over into 



200 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



it, and that meadow is called Bypath meadow. Then 
said Christian to his fellow, If this meadow lieth along 
by our wayside, let's go over into it. Then he went 
to the stile to see ; and behold, a path lay along by the 
way on the other side of the fence. It is according 
lo my wish, said Christian ; here is the easiest going ; 
come, good Hopeful, and let us go over. 

Hope. But how if this path should lead us out of 
the way ? 

That is not likely, said the other. Look, doth it 
not go along by the wayside ? So Hopeful, being per- 
suaded by his fellow, went after him over the stile. 
When they were gone over, and were got into the 
path, they found it very easy for their feet ; and withal, 
they, looking before them, espied a man walking as 
they did, and his name was Vain-Confidence : so the} 
called after him, and asked him whither tha!; way led 
He said. To the Celestial Gate. Look, said Christian, 
did I not tell you so ? By this you may see we are 
right. So they followed, and he went before them. 
But behold, the night came on, and it grew very dark ; 
so they that were behind lost sight of him that went 
before. 

He, therefore, that went before (Vain-Confidence 
by name), not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep 
pit, which was on purpose there made, by the prince 
of those grounds, to catch vain-glcrious fools withal, 
and was dashed in pieces with his fall. (Isa. 9 : 16.) 

Now, Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So 
they called to know the matter, but there was none to 
answer, only they heard a groaning. Then said Hope- 
ful, Where are we now ? Then was his fellow silent, 
as mistrusting that he had led him out of the way ; 
and now it began to rain, and thunder, and lighten, in 
a most dreadful manner, and the water rose amain. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 201 

Then Hopeful groaned in himself, saying, Oh, that 
I had kept on my way ! 

Chr. Who could have thought that this path should 
have led us out of the way ? 

Hope. I was afraid on't at the very first, and there- 
fore gave you that gentle caution. I would have spoken 
plainer, but that you are older than I. 

Chr. Good brother, be not offended : I am scrry I 
have brought thee out of the way, and that I hav3 put 
thee into such imminent danger. Pray, my brc»ther, 
forgive me ; I did not do it of an evil intent. 

Hope. Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee 
and believe, too, that this shall be for our good. 

Chr. I am glad I have with me a merciful brother-, 
but we must not stand here ; let us try to go back } gain. 

Hope. But, good brother, let me go before. 

Chr. No, if you please, let me go first, that if there 
be any danger, I may be first therein, because ly my 
means we are both gone out of the way. 

Hope. No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first, for 
your mind being troubled may ^^ead you out of thfe way 
again. Then for their encouragement they heard the 
voice of one saying, " Let thine heart be toward the 
highway, even the way that thou wen test: turn again." 
(Jer. 31 : 21.) But by this time the waters were 
greatly risen, by which the way of going back was very 
dangerous. (Then I thouglit that it is easier going out 
of the way when we are in, than going in when we are 
out.) Yet they adventured to go back ; but it was so 
dark, and the flood was so high, that in their going 
back they had like to have been drowned nine or ten 
times. 

Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get 
again to the stile that night. Wherefore at last, light- 
ing under a little shelter, they sat down there tdl the 



202 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

day brake •, but, being weary, they fell asleep. Now 
there was^ not far from the place where they lay, a 
castle, called Doubting Castle, the owner whereof was 
Giant Despair, and it was in his grounds they now were 
sleeping ; wherefore he, getting up in the morning 
early, and walking up and dowr in his fields, caught 
Christian and Hopeful asleep in his grounds. Then 
with a grim and surly voice he bid them awake, and 
asked them whence they were, and what they did in his 
grounds. They told him they were pilgrims, and that 
they had lost their way. Then said the giant. You have 
this night trespassed on me by trampling in and lying 
on my grounds, and therefore you must go along with 
me. So they were forced to go, because he was stronger 
than they. They had also but little to say, for they 
knew themselves in a fault. The giant, therefore, drove 
them before him, and put them into his castle, into 
a very dark dungeon, nasty and stinking to the spiritii 
of these two men. Here, then, they lay from Wednes- 
day morning till Saturday night, without one bit of 
bread or drop of drink, or light, or any to .-sk how they 
did ; they were, therefore, here in evil case, and were 
far from friends and acquaintance. (Psa. 88 : 18.) Now, 
in this place. Christian had double sorrow, because it 
was through his unadvised counsel that they were 
brought into this distress. 

Nov/ Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was 
Diffidence: so, when he was gone to bed, he told iiis 
wife what he had done, to wit, that he had taken a 
couple of prisoners, and cast them into his dungeon for 
trespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her, also, 
what he had best do further with them. So she asked 
him what they were, whence they came, and whither 
they were bound ; and he told her. Then sh^ coun- 
selled him, that, when he arose in the morning, h*> 



THE PILGRIM '."^ PROGRESS, 203 

should beat them without mercy. So when he aroso, 
he getteth him a grievous crab-tree cudgel, and goes 
iown into the dungeon to them, and there first falls to 
rating of them as if they were dogs, although they gavo 
him never a word of distastCo Then he fell upon them, 
and beat them fearfully, in cuch sort that they were not 
able to help themselves, or to turn them upon the floor. 
This done, he withdrr^wc and ^er-ves them there to con- 
dole their misery, and to mowrn under their distress: 
so all that day they spent their time in nothing but 
sighs and bitter Ir.mentations. Tho next night, she, 
talking with her husband further about them, and un- 
derstanding that they were yet alive, did advise him to 
counsel them to make awj:iy with themselves. So, when 
morning was come, he goes to them in a surly manner, 
as before, and perceiving them to be very sore with the 
stripes that he had given them the day before, he told 
them, that since they were never like to come out of 
that place, their only way would be forthwith to make 
an end of themselves, either wii i knife, halter, or poison ; 
for why, said he, should you choose to live, seeing it is 
attended with so much bitterness ? But they desired 
him to let them go. With that he looked ugl}^ upon 
them, and rushing to them, had doubtless made an end 
of them himself, but that he fell into one of his fits 
(for he sometimes in sunshiny weather fell into fits), 
and lost for a time the use of his hands ; wherefore he 
withdrew, and left them, as before, to consider what to 
do. Then did the prisoners consult between themselves 
whether it was best to take his counsel or no; and thus 
thev beg^an to discourse. 

Chr. Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? 
The life that we now live is miserable. For my part, 
I know not whether it is best to live thus, or to die out 
of hand. My soul chooseth strangling rather than life. 



,o^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

and the grave is more easy for me than this dungeon. 
(Job 7 : 15.) Shall we be ruled by the giant ? 

Hope. Indeed our present condition is dreadful, 
and death would be far more welcome to me than thus 
forever to abide ; but yet, let us consider, the Lord of 
the country to which we are going hath said, " Thou 
shalt do no murder," no, not to another man's person ; 
much more, then, are we forbidden to take his counsel 
to kill ourselves. Besides, he that kills another, can 
but commit murder upon his body; but for one to kill 
himself, is to kill body and soul at once. And, more- 
over, my brother, thou talkest of ease in the grave ; 
but hast thou forgotten the hell whither for certain the 
murderers go ? for " no murderer hath eternal life," 
&c. And let us consider again, that all the law is not 
in the hand of Giant Despair : others, so far as I can 
understand, have been taken by him as well as we, and 
yet have escaped out of his hands. Who knows but 
that God, who made the world, may cause that Giant 
Despair may die ; or that, at some time or other, he 
may forget to lock us in ; or that he may, in a short 
time, have another of his fits before us, and may lose the 
use of his limbs ? And if ever that should come to 
pass again, for my part, I am resolved to pluck up the 
heart of a man, and to try my utmost to get from under 
his hand. I was a fool that I did not try to do it be- 
fore. But, however, my brother, let us be patient, and 
endure a while : the time may come that may give us a 
happy release ; but let us not be our own murderers. 
With these words Hopeful at present did moderate the 
mind of his brother ; so they continued together in the 
dark that day, in their sad and doleful condition. 

Well, towards evening the giant goes down into the 
dungeon again, to see if his prisoners had taken his 
counsel. But, when he came there he found them 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS, 2 og 

alive ; and, truly, alive was all ; for now, what for want 
of bread and water, and by reason of the wounds they 
received when he beat them, they could do little but 
breathe. But, I say, he found them alive ; at which he 
fell into a grievous rage, and told them, that, seeing 
the}^ had disobeyed his counsel, it should be worse with 
them than if they had never been born. 

At this they trembled greatly, and I think that 
Christian fell into a swoon ; but, coming a little to 
himself again, they renewed their discourse about the 
giant's counsel, and whether yet they had best take it 
or no. Now Christian again seemed for doing it ; but 
Hopeful made his second reply, as followeth : — 

Hope. My brother, said he, rememberest thou not 
how valiant thou hast been heretofore ? Apollyon 
could not crush thee, nor could all that thou didst hear, 
or see, or feel, in the Valley of the Shadow of Death 
What hardship, terror, and amazement, hast thou al- 
ready gone through ; and art thou now nothing but 
fears? Thou seest that I am in the dungeon with thee, 
a far weaker man by nature than thou art. Also, this 
giant hath wounded me as well as thee, and hath also 
cut off the bread and water from my mouth, and with 
thee I mourn without the light. But, let us exercise a 
little more patience. Remember how thou playedst the 
man at Vanity Fair, and wast neither afraid of the 
chain nor cage, nor yet of bloody death ; wherefore, 
let us (at least to avoid the shame that it becomes not 
a Christian to be found in) bear up with patience as 
well as we can. 

Now, night being come again, and the giant and his 
wife being in bed, she asked him concerning the pris- 
oners, and if they had taken his counsel : to which he 
replied. They are sturdy rogues ; they choose rather to 
bear all hardships than to make away with themselves. 



2o6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Then said she, Take them into the castle-yard to-mor- 
row, and show them the bones and skulls of those that 
thou hast already despatched, and mak^ them believe, 
€re a week come^ to an end, thou wilt tear them in 
pieces, as thou hast done their fellows before them. 

So, when the morning was come, the giant goes to 
them again, and takes them into the castle-yard, and 
shows them as his wife had bidden him. These, said 
he, were pilgrims, as you are, once, and they trespassed 
on my grounds, as you have done ; and, when I thought 
fit, I tore them in pieces ; and so within ten days I will 
do you. Go, get you down to your den again. And 
with that he beat them all the way thither. They lay, 
therefore, all day on Saturday in a lamentable case, as 
before. Now, when night was come, and when Mrs 
Diffidence, and her husband the giant was got to bed 
they began to renew their discourse of their prisoners \ 
and, withal, the old giant wondered that he could 
neither by his blows nor counsel bring them to an end. 
And with that his wife replied, I fear, said she, that 
they live in hopes that some will come to relieve them ; 
or that they have picklocks about them, by the means 
of which they hope to escape. And sayest thou so, my 
dear ? said the giant. I will therefore search them in 
the morning. 

Well, on Saturday, about midnight, they began to 
pray, and continued in prayer till almost break of day. 

Now, a little before it was day, good Christian, as 
one half amazed, brake out into this passionate speech: 
What a fool, quoth he, am I, thus to lie in a stinking 
dungeon, when I may as well walk at liberty ! I have 
a key in my bosom, called Promise, that will, I am per- 
suaded, open any lock in Doubting Castle. Then said 
Hopeful, That is good news ; good brother, pluck it 
out of thy bosom, and tiT. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. tOf 

Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began 
to try at the dungeon-door, wliose bolt, as he turned 
the key, gave back, and the door flew open with ease, 
and Christian and Hopeful both came out. Then he 
went to the outward door that leads into the castle- 
yard, and with his ka; : iaaed that door also. After 
that he went to the ir.ii gate, for that must be opened 
too ; but that lock Avent desperately hard, yet the key 
did open it. They then thrust open the gate to make 
their escape with speed ; but that gate, as it opened, 
made such a creaking that it waked Giant Despair, who- 
hastily rising to pursue his prisoners, felt his limbs to 
fail ; for his fits took him again, so that he could by no 
means go after them. Then they went on, and came 
to the King's highway, and so were safe, because they 
were out of his jurisdiction. 

Now, when they were gone over the stile, they be- 
gan to contrive with themselves what they should do 
at that stile to prevent those that should come after 
from falling into the hands of Giant Despair. So they 
consented to erect there a pillar, and to engrave upon 
the side thereof this sentence : " Over this stile is the 
way to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant De- 
spair, who despiseth the King of the Celestial Country, 
and seeks to destroy his holy pilgrims." Many there- 
fore, that followed after, read what was written, and 
escaped the danger. This done, tliey sang as follows ;- 

"Out of the way we went, and then v/e found 
What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground i 
And let them that come after have a care, 
Lest heedlessness makes them as we to fare ; 
Lest they, for trespassing, his prisoners are, 
Whose castle's Doubting, and whose name's T)eep»2&^ 



gQ5 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 



THE EIGHTH STAGE. 

They went then till they came to the Delectable 
Mountains, which mountains belong to the Lord of 
that hill of which we have spoken before. So they 
went up to the mountains, to behold the gardens and 
orchards, the vineyards and fountains of water ; where 
also they drank and washed themselves, and did freely 
eat of the vineyards. Now, there were on the tops of 
these mountains shepherds feeding their flocks, and 
they stood by the highway-side. The pilgrims, there-- 
fore, went to them, and leaning upon their staffs (as is 
common with weary pilgrims when they stand to talk 
with any by the way), they asked. Whose Delectable 
Mountains are these ; and whose be the sheep that feed 
upon them ? 

Shep. These mountains are Emmanuel's land, and 
they are within sight of his city ; and the sheep also 
are his, and he laid down his life for them. (John 10 : 
11, 15.) 

Chr. Is this the way to the Celestial City? 

Shep. You are just in your way. 

Chr. How far is it thither ? 

Shep. Too far for any but those who shall get 
thither indeed. 

Chr. Is the way safe or dangerous? 

Shep. Safe for those for whom it is to be sale j but 
transgressors shall fall therein. (Hos. 14 : 9.) 

Chr. Is there in this place any relief for pilgrims 
that are weary and faint in the way ? 

Shep. The Lord of these mountains hath given us 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 209 

a charge not to be forgetful to entertain strangers (Heb. 
l3 : 2) ; therefore the good of the place is before you. 

I saw also in my dream, that when the shepherds 
perceived that they were wayfaring men, they also put 
questions to them (to which they made answer as in 
other places), as, Whence came you ? and. How got you 
into the way ? and, By what means have you so perse- 
vered therein ? for but few of them that begin to come 
hither, do show their face on these mountains. But 
when the shepherds heard their answers, being pleased 
therewith, they looked very lovingly upon them, and 
said. Welcome to the Delectable Mountains. 

The shepherds, I say, whose names were Knowledge, 
Experience, Watchful, and Sincere, took them by the 
hand, and had them to their tents, and made them 
partake of what was ready at present. They said, 
moreover, We would that you should stay here a while, 
to be acquainted with us, and yet more to solace your- 
selves with the good of these Delectable Mountains. 
Then they told them that they were content to stay. 
So they went to their rest that night, because it was 
very late. 

Then I saw in my dream, that in the morning the 
shepherds called up Christian and Hopeful to walk 
with them upon the mountains. So they v/ent forth 
with them, and walked a while, having a pleasant pros- 
pect on every side. Then said the shepherds one to 
another. Shall we show these pilgrims some wonders ? 
So, when they had concluded to do it, they had them 
first to the top of a hill called Error, which was very 
steep on the farthest side, and bid them look down 
to the bottom. So Christian and Hopeful looked down, 
and saw at the bottom several men dashed all to pieces 
by a fall that they had had from the top. Then said 
Christian. What meaneth this? The shepherds an* 



2 , o TNE riL GRIM S I KOGKESS. 

swored. Have you nut heivitl of tL.'m that were made to 
err, by he;ukening to Hymeiieus and Philetus, a^ con- 
ce-ninsr the faith of the resurrection of the body? i^l 
l.-j. i!: IT, IS.) They aiiswereii. Yes. Then Siiid uie 
shepherds. Those that you soe lie dasluni in pieces ai 
the bottom of this mountavin are they ; and they have 
oontinueii to this day unburied. ivs you see, for aii 
example . o othei*s to take heed how they clamber too 
high, or how they come too near the brink of this 
mountain. 

Then 1 si\w that they had them to liie top of another 
mount...n, aiid the name of that is Caution, and bid 
them look afar off, which, when they did, they j>er- 
ceived, as they thought, sevenvl men walking up and 
down among the toml^ that were there ; tuid they per- 
ceived that the men were blind, because they stumbled 
sometimes u^x>n the tombs, and because they could not 
get out fi-oui among them. Then said Christian, What 
means this ? 

The shepherds then answered. Did you not see, a 
L:tle below these mountains, a stile that led into a 
meadow, on the left hand of this wav '^. They answered. 
Yes. Then s;ud the shepheixis. From that stile there 
goes a path that leads directly to Doubting Castle, 
which is kept by Giant Desjxnir: and these men (point- 
ing toiue-u among the tombs) came once on pilgrimai^e, 
as you do now, even until they came to that same stile. 
And because the right way was rough in that place, 
tiiey chose to go out of it into that meadow, and there 
were taken by Giant Desjxiir, and cast into Doubting 
Castle : where, after they had a while been kept in ihe 
dungeon, he at last did put vut their eyes, and led 
them among those tomlis, where he has left them tc 
wander to tiiis very day ; that the saving of the wise 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 2 1 \ 

roan might be fulfilled, *' He that wandereth out of the 
\v;iv of understanding shall remain in the congregation 
of the dead." (^Prov. :21 : IG.) Then Christian and 
Hopt'ful looked one upon another, with tears gushing 
out, but yet said nothing to the shepherds. 

Then 1 saw in my dream, that the shepherds had 
them to another place in a bottom, where was a door 
on the side of a hill . and they opened the door, and bid 
them look in. They looked in, therefore, and saw that 
within it was very dark and smoky ; they also thought 
that they heard there a rumbling noise, as of fire, and 
a cry of some tormented, and that tliey smelt the scent 
of brimstone. 

Then said Christian, What means this ? The shep- 
herds told them. This is a by-way to hell, a way that 
hypocrites go in at ; namely, such as sell their birth- 
right, with Esau ; such as sell their Master, with Judas ; 
such as blaspheme the Clospel, with Alexander ; and 
that lie and dissemble, with Ananias, and Sapphira his 
wife. 

Then said Hopeful to the shepherds, I perceive that 
these had on them, even every one, a show of pilgrim- 
age, as we have now; had they not? 

Shep. Yes, and held it a long time, too. 

Hope. How far might they go on in pilgrimage in 
their day, since they, notwithstanding, were thus miser- 
ably cast away ? 

Shep. Some farther, and some not so far as these 
mountains. 

Then said the pilgrims one to the other. We had 
need to cry to the Strong for strength. 

Shep. Aye, and you will have need to use it, when 
you have it, too. 

By this time the pilgrims had a desire to go forward, 
and the shepherds a desire they should ; so they walked 



„2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

tosrether towards the end of the mountains. Then said 
the shepherds one to another, Let us here show the pil- 
grims the gates of the Celestial City, if they have skill 
to look through our perspective glass. The pilgrims 
then lovingly accepted the motion : so they had them 
to the top of a high hill, called Clear, and gave them 
the glass to look. 

Then they tried to look , but tlie remembrance of 
that last thing that the shepherds had shown them 
made their hands shake, by means of which impediment 
they could not look steadily through the glass ; yet 
they thought they saw something like the gate, and 
also some of the glory of the place. Tlien they went 
away, and sang : — 

"Thus, by the Shepherds, secrets are reveal'd, 
Which from all other men are kept conceal'd : 
Come to the Shepherds, then, if you would see 
Things deep, things hid, and that mysterious be." 

When they were about to depart, one of the shep- 
herds gave them a note of the way. Another of them 
bid them beware of the Flatterer. The third bid them 
take heed that they slept not upon the Enchanted 
Ground. And the fourth bid them God speed. So I 
awoke from my dream. 



THE NINTH STAGE. 



And I slept and dreamed again, and saw the same 
two pilgrims going down the mountains along the high- 
way towards the city. Now, a little below these moun- 
tains, on the left hand, lieth the country of Conceit, 
from which country there comes into the wav in which 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PRO GRESS. 2 1 3 

the pilgrims walked a little crooked lane. Here, there- 
fore, they met with a very brisk lad that came out of 
that country, and his name was Ignorance. So Chris* 
tian asked him from what parts he came, and whither 
he was going. 

Ignor. Sir, I was born in the country that lieth off 
there, a little on the left hand, and I am going to the 
Celestial City. 

Chr. But how do you think to get in at the gate, 
for you may find some diiBculty there? 

Ignor. As other good people do, said he. 

Chr. But what have you to show at that gate, that 
the gate should be opened to you? 

Ignor. I know my Lord's will, and have been a good 
liver ; I pay every man his own ; I pray, fast, pay tithes, 
and give alms, and have left my country for whither I 
am ^oinoj. 

Chr. But thou camest not in at the wicket-gate, 
that is at the head of this way , thou camest in hither 
through that same crooked lane, and therefore I fear, 
however thou mayest think of thyself, when the reckon- 
ing-day shall come, thou wilt have laid to thy charge, 
that thou art a thief and a robber, instead of getting 
admittance into the city. 

Ignor. Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me ; I 
know you not; be content to follow the religion of 
your country, and I will follow the religion of mine. I 
hope all will be well. And as for the gate that you 
talk of, all the world knows that it is a great way off of 
our country. I cannot think that any man in all our 
parts doth so much as know the way to it ; nor need 
they matter whether they do or no, since we have, as 
you see, a fine, pleasant, green lane, that comes down 
from our country, the next way into the way. 

When Christian saw that the man was wise in his 



914 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



own conceit, he said to Hopeful, whisperingly, "Thert 
is more hope of a fool than of him." (Pro v. 26 : 12.) 
And said, moreover, "When he that is a fool walketh 
by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saith to 
every one that he is a fool." (Eccles. 10 : 3.) What^ 
shall we talk further with him, or outgo him at present, 
and so leave him to think of what he hath heard al 
ready, and then stop again for him afterwards, and see 
if by degrees we can do any good by him ? Then said 
Hopeful : 

*• Let Ignorance a little while now muse 
On what is said, and let him not refuse 
Good counsel to embrace, lest he remain 
Still ignorant of what's the chiefest gain. 
God saith, Those that no understanding have, 
(Although He made them), them He will not save." 

He further added. It is not good, I think, to say so 
to him all at once ; let us pass him by, if you will, and 
talk to him anon, even as he is able to bear it. 

So they both went on, and Ignorance came after. 
Now, when they had passed him a little way, they en- 
tered into a very dark lane, where they met a man whom 
seven devils had bound with seven strong cords, and 
were carrying him back to the door that they saw on 
the side of the hill. (Matt. 12: 45; Prov. 5: 22.) 
Now good Christian began to tremble, and so did Hope- 
ful, his companion; yet, as the devils led away the man. 
Christian looked to see if he knew him ; and he thought 
ii might be one Turnaway, that dwelt in the town of 
Apostacy. But he did not perfectly see his face, for he 
did hang his head like a thief that is found ; but, being 
gone past. Hopeful looked after him, and espied on his 
back a paper with this inscription, " Wanton professor, 
and damnable apostate." 



THE PIL GRIMS PROGRESS. 2 1 

Then said Christian to his fellow, Now I call to my 
remembrance that which was told me of a thing that 
happened to a good man hereabout. The name of the 
man was IJttlefaith ; but a good man, and he dwelt in 
the town oFSincere. The thing was this. At the en- 
tering in at this passage, there comes down from Broad- 
way-gate a lane, called Deadman's lane; so called be- 
cause of the murders that are commonly done there ; 
and this Littlefaith going on pilgrimage, as we do now', 
chanced to sit down there and sleep. :Now there hap. 
pened at that time tc, come down the lane from Broad- 
way-gate, three sturdy rogues, and their names were 
Fainthe^t^_ Mistrust and Guilt, three brothers; and 
they, espying Littlefaith where he was, came galloping 
up with speed. Now, the good man was just awakened 
from his sleep, and was getting up to go on his journey. 
So they came up all to him, and with threatening lan- 
guage bid him stand. At this, Littlefaith looked as 
white as a sheet, and had neither power to fight nor fly. 
Then said Fainthcrirt, Deliver thy purse ; bu't he mak- 
ing no haste to do it (for he was loth to lose his money). 
Mistrust ran up to him, and thrusting his hand into his 
pocket, pulled out thence a bag of silver. Then he 
cried out, Thieves, thieves ! With that. Guilt, with a 
great club tliat was in his hand, struck Littlefaith on 
the head, and with that blow felled him flat to the 
ground, where he lay bleeding as one that would bleed 
to death. All this while the thieves stood by. But, 
at last, they hearing that some were upon the road, and 
fearing lest it should be one Greatgrace, that dwells in 
the town of Good-Confidence^ they betook themselves 
to their heels, and left this good man to shift for him- 
self. Now, after a while, Littlefaith came to himself, 
and getting up, made shift to scramble on his way. 
This was th<^ stor^. 



|i5 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Hope. But did they take from him all that ever he 
had? 

Chr. No; the place where his jewels were thej 
never ransacked ; so those he kept still. But, as I was 
told, the good man was much afflicted for his loss ; for 
the thieves got most of his spending-money. That 
which they got not, as I said, were jewels ; also, he had 
a little odd money left, but scarce enough to bring him 
to his journey's end. Nay (if I was not misinformed), 
he was forced to beg as he went, to keep himself alive, 
for his jewels he might not sell ; but beg and do what 
he could, he went, as we say, with many a hungry belly, 
the most part of the rest of the way. (1 Pet. 4 : 18.) 

PIoPE. But is it not a wonder they got not from 
him his certificate, by which he was to receive his ad- 
mittance at the Celestial Gate ? 

Chr. It is a wonder; but they got not that, tliough 
they missed it not through any good cunning of his ; 
for he, being dismayed by their coming upon him, had 
neither power nor skill to hide any thing ; so it was 
more by good providence than by his endeavor that 
they missed of that good thing. (2 Tim. 1 : 12-14 ; 2 
Pet. 2: 9.) 

Hope. But it must needs be a comfort to him that 
they got not this jewel from him. 

Chr. It might have been great comfort to him, had 
he used it as he should ; but they that told me the 
story said that he made but little use of it all the rest 
of the way, and that because of the dismay that he had 
in the taking away his money. Indeed, he forgot it a 
great part of the rest of his journey ; and besides, wher 
at any time it came into his mind, and he began to be 
comforted therewith, then would fresh thoughts of his 
loss come again upon him, and these thoughts would 
swallow up all. 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 2 1 7 

Hope. Alas, poor man ! this could not but be a great 
^rief to him. 

Chr. Grief? Aye, a grief indeed! Would it not 
have been so to any of us, had we been used as he, to 
be robbed and wounded too, and that in a strange place, 
as he was ? It is a wonder he did not die with grief, 
poor heart. I was told that he scattered almost all the 
rest of the way with nothing but doleful and bitter 
complaints : telling also to all that overtook him, or 
that he overtook in the way as he went, where he was 
robbed, and how ; who they were that did it, and what 
he had lost ; how he was wounded, and that he hardly 
escaped with life. 

Hope. But it is a wonder that his necessity did not 
put him upon selling or pawning some of his jewels, 
that he might have wherewith to relieve himself in his 
jouruey. 

Chr. Thou talkest like one upon whose head is the 
shell to this very day. For what should he pawn them? 
or to whom should he sell them? In all that country 
where he was robbed, his jewels were not accounted of ; 
nor did he want that relief which could from thence be 
administered to him. Besides, had the jewels been 
missing at the gate of the Celestial City, he had (and 
that he knew well enough) been excluded from an 
inheritance there, and that would have been worse to 
him than the appearance and villany of ten thousand 
thieves. 

Hope. Why art thou so tart, my brother ? Esau sold 
his birthright, and that for a mess of pottage (Heb. 12: 
16); and that birthright was his greatest jewel : and if 
he, why might not Littlefaith do so, too ? 

Chr. Esau did sell his birthright, indeed; and so do 
many besides, and by so doing exclude themselves from 
the chief blessing, as also that caitiff did ; but you must 



^ig THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS. 

put a difference betwixt Esau and Littlefaith, and also 
betwixt their estates. Esau's birthright was typical ; 
but Littlefaith's jewels were not so. Esau's belly was 
his god; but Littlefaith's belly was not so. Esau's 
want lay in his fleshy appetite ; Littlefaith's did not so. 
Besides, Esau could see no further than the fulfilling of 
his lusts : " For I am at the point to die," said he, " and 
what good will this birthright do me ? " (Gen. 25 : 32.) 
But, Littlefaith, though it was his lot to have but a 
little faith, was by his little faith kept from such ex- 
travagances, and made to see and prize his jewels more 
than to sell them, as Esau did his birthright. You read 
not anywhere that Esau had faith, no, not so much as a 
little ; therefore no marvel, where the flesh only bears 
sway (as it will in that man where no faith is to resist), 
if he sells his birthright, and his soul and all, and that 
to the devil of hell ; for it is with such as it is with the 
ass, " who, in her occasion, cannot be turned away 
( Jer. 2 : 24) : when their minds are set upon their 
lusts, they will have them whatever they cost. But 
Littlefaith was of another temper ; his mind was on 
things divine ; his livelihood was upon things that were 
spiritual, and from above : therefore, to what end should 
he that is of such a temper sell his jewels (had there 
been any that would have bought them) to fill his mind 
with empty things ? Will a man give a penny to fill 
his belly with hay ? or can you persuade the turtle- 
dove to live upon carrion, like the crow ? Though faith- 
less ones can, for carnal lusts, pawn, or mortgage, oi 
sell what they have, and themselves outright, to boot ; 
yet they that have faith, saving faith, though but a little 
of it, can not do so. Here, therefore, my brother, is thy 
mistake. 

Hope. I acknowledge it ; but yet your sevej e refisc 
lion had almost made me angry. 



THE PIL GRIM 'S FK O GRESS. 2 1 ^ 

Chr. Why, I did but compare thee to some of the 
birds that are of the brisker sort, who will run to and 
fro in untrodden paths with the shell upon their heads : 
but pass by that, and consider the matter under debate, 
and all shall be well betwixt thee and me. 

Hope. But, Christian, these three fellows, I am 
persuaded in my heart, are but a company of cowards : 
would they have run, else, think you, as they did, at the 
noise of one that was coming on the road ? Why did 
not Littlefaith pluck up a greater heart ? He might, 
methinks, have stood one brush with them, and have 
yielded when there had been no remedy. 

Chr. That they are cowards, many have said ; but 
few have found it so in the time of trial. As for a great 
heart, Littlefaith had none ; and I perceive by thee, my 
brother, hadst thou been the man concerned, thou art 
but for a brush, and then to yield. And, verily, since 
this is the height of thy stomach, now they are at a 
distance from us, should they appear to thee as they 
did to him, they might put thee to second thoughts. 

But consider, again, that they are but journeymen 
thieves ; they serve under the king of the bottomless 
pit, who, if need be, will come to their aid himself, and 
his voice is " as the roaring of a lion." (1 Pet. 5 : 8.) 
I myself have been engaged as this Littlefaith was, and 
found it a terrible thing. These three villains set upon 
me, and I beginning like a Christian to resist, they gave 
but a call, and in came their master. I would, as the 
saying is, have given my life for a penny, but that, as 
God would have it, I was clothed with armor of proof. 
Aye, and yet, thous"h I w^as so harnessed, I found it 
hard work to quit myself like a man. No man can tell 
what in that combat attends us, but he that hath been 
in the battle himself 



220 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Hope. Well, but they ran, you see, when they did 

but suppose that one Greatgrace was in the way. 

I Chr. True, they have ofterLfled, both they and their 

I master, when Greatgrace hath but appeared ; and, no 

^ marvel, for he is the king^s champion. But I trow you 

will put some difference between Littlefaith and thft 

King's champion. All the King's sul)jects are not His 

champions ; nor can the}^ when tried, do such feats of 

war as he. Is it meet to think that a little child should 

handle Goliath as David did ? or that there should be 

the strength of an ox in a wren? Some are strong, 

some are weak ; some have great faith, some have little : 

this man was one of the weak, and therefore he went 

to the wall. 

Hope. I would it had been Greatgrace, for their 
sakes. 

Chr. If it had been he, he might have had his 
hands full ; for I must tell you, that though Greatgrace 
is excellent good at his weapons, and has, and can, so 
long as he keeps them at sword's point, do well enough 
with them ; yet if they get within him, even Fainthearty 
Mistrust, or the other, it shall go hard or they will 
throw up his heels. And when a man is down, you 
know, what can he do? 

Whoso looks well upon Greatgrace's face, will see 
those scars and cuts there that shall easily give demon- 
stration of what I say. Yea, once I heard that he 
should say (and that when he was in combat). We de- 
spaired even of life. How did these sturdy rogues and 
their fellows make David groan, mourn, and roar ! Yea, 
Heman (Psalm 88), and Hezekiah, too, though cham- 
pions in their days, were forced to bestir them when by 
these assaulted ; and yet, notwithstanding, they had 
their coats soundly brushed by them. Peter, upon a 
time, would go try what he could do ; but, though some 



THE PIL GRIAPS PROGRESS, 221 

do say of him that he is the prince of the apostles, they 
handled him so that they made him at last afraid of a 
sorry girl. 

Besides, their king is at their whistle ; he is never 
out of hearing ; and, if at any time they be put to the 
worst, he, if possible, comes in to help them : and of 
him it is said, " The sword of him that layeth at him 
cannot hold ; the spear, the dart, nor the habergeon. 
He esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood. 
The arrow cannot rar.ke Mm fly; sling-stones are turned 
with him to stubble. Darts are counted as stubble ; 
he laugheth at the shaking of a spear." (Job 41 : 
26-29.) What crm a man do in this case ? It is true, 
if a man could at every turn have Job's horse, and had 
skill and courage to ride him, he might do notable 
things. " For his neck is clothed with thunder. He 
will not be afraid as a grasshopper : the glory of his nos- 
trils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth 
in his strength : he goeth on to meet the armed men. 
He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither turn- 
eth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth 
against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He 
swalloweth the ground Avith fierceness and rao-e ; nei- 
ther believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. 
He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha ! and he smelleth 
the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the 
shouting." (Job 39 : 19-25.) 

But for such footmen as thee and I are, let us never d^*"' 
desire to meet with an enemy, nor vaunt as if we could ^ /^ 
do better, when we hear of others that have been foiled,/'^' ^i^ 
nor be tickled at the thoughts of our own manhood; 
for such commonly come by the worst when tried. 
Witness Peter, of whom I made mention before : he 
would swagger, aye, he would; he would, as his vain 
mind prompted him to say, do better and stand moro 



^,j^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

for his Master than all men : hut who so foiled and ruu 

down by those villains as he ? 

When, therefore, we hear that such robberies are 
done on the King's highway, two things become us 

to do. A.^ ^-^ .w'>— <^ -^7 '^i ^ A 

1. To go out harnessed, and be sure to take a shield 7^: 
with us :"~TorTt'was for want of that, that he who laid 

60 lustily at Leviathan could not make him yield : for, 
indeed, if that be wanting, he fears us not at all. There- 
fore, He that had skill hath said, " Above all, take the 
shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench al 
the fiery darts of the wicked." (Eph. 6 : 16.) 

2. It is good, also, that we desire of the king a con 
voy, yea, that he will go with us Himself. This made 
David rejoice when in the Valley of the Shadow of 
Death ; and Moses was rather for dying where he stood 
than to go one step without his God. (Exod. 33 : 15.) 

Oh, my brother, if He will but go along with us, 
what need we be afraid of ten thousands that shall set 
themselves against us? (Psalm 3 : 5-8*; 27 : 1-3.) But, 
without Him, the proud helpers fall under the slain. 

(Isa. 10 : 4.) 

I, for my part, have been in the fray before now ^ 
and though (through the goodness of Him that is best) 
I am, as you see, alive, yet I cannot boast of my man- 
hood. Glad shall I be if I meet with no more such 
brunts ; though I fear we are not got beyond all dan- 
ger. However, since the lion and the bear have not as 
yet devoured me, I hope God will also deliver us from 
the next uncircumcised Philistine. Then sang Chri* 
tian, — 

•♦ Poor Littlefaith ! Hast been among; the thieves f 
Wast robbed ? Remember this, whoso believes. 
And get more faith : then shall you victors be 
Over ten thousand, else scarce over three,'* 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 223 

So they went on, and Ignorance followed. They 
*-ent on till they came at a place where they saw a 
way put itself into their way, and seemed withal to lie 
as straight as the way which they should go ; and here 
they knew not which of the two to take, for both 
seemed straight before them: therefore, here they stood 
still to consider. And, as they were thinking about 
the way, behold, a man, black of flesh, but covered 
with a very light robe, came to them, and asked them 
why they stood there. They answered, they were go- 
ing to the Celestial City, but knew not which of these 
ways to take. " Follow me," said the man, *' it is 
thither that I am going." So they followed him in the 
way that but now came into the road, which by degrees 
turned, and turned them so far from the cit}^ that they 
desired to go to, that in a little time their faces were 
turned away from it ; 3^et they followed him. But, by 
and by, before they were aware, he led them both with- 
in the compass of a net, in which they were both so en- 
tangled that they knew not what to do; and with that 
the white robe fell off the black man's back. Then 
they saw where they were. Wherefore there they lay 
crying some time, for they could not get themselves 
out. 

Chr. Then said Christian to his fellow, Now do I 
see myself in an error. Did not the shepherds bid us 
beware of the Flatterer? As is the saying of the wise 
man, so we have found it this day : " A man that flat- 
tereth his neighbor, spreadeth a net for his feet." (Prov. 
29: 5.; 

Hope. They also gave us a note of directions about 
the way, for our more sure finding thereof; but therein 
we have also forgotten to read, and have not kept our- 
Belve© from the paths of the destroyer. Here David 
was wiser than we ; for saith he, " Concerning the 



224 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



works of men, by the word of Thy lips I have kept me 
from the paths of the destroyer." (Psalm 17 : 4.) Thus 
they lay bewailing themselves in the net. At last they 
espied a Shining One coming towards them, with a 
whip of small cords in his hand. When he was come 
to the place where they were, he asked them whence 
they came, and what they did there. They told him 
that they were poor pilgrims going to Zion, but were 
led out of their way by a black man clothed in white, 
who bid us, said they, follow him, for he was going 
thither, too. Then said he with the whip, It is Flat- 
terer, a false apostle, that hath transformed himself into 
an angel of light. (Dan. 11 : 32 ; 2 Cor. 11 ; 13, 14.) 
So he rent the net, and let the men out. Then said he 
to them, Follow me, that I may set you in your way 
again. So he led them back to the way which they had 
left to follow the Flatterer. Then he asked them, say- 
ing, Where did you lie the last night? They said. 
With the shepherds upon the Delectable Mountains. 
He asked them then if they had not of the shepherds a 
note of direction for the way. They answered, Yes. 
But did you not, said he, when you were at a stand, 
pluck out and read your note ? They answered. No. 
He asked them. Why? They said they forgot. He 
asked, moreover, if the shepherds did not bid them be- 
ware of the Flatterer. They answered, Yes ; but we 
did not imagine, said they, that this fin© spoken man 
had been he. (Rom. 16; IT, 18.) 

Then I saw in my dream, that he commanded them 
to lie down ; which, when they did, he chastised them 
sore, to teach them the good way wherein they should 
walk (Deut. 25 : 2 ; 2 Chron. 6 : 27) ; and as he chas- 
tised them, he said, '' As many as I love, I rebuke and 
chasten ; be zealous, therefore, and repent." (Rev. S : 
19.) This done, he bids them to go on their way. ap^J 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 225 

take good heed to the other directions of the shepherds. 
So they thanked him for all his kindness, and went 
softly along the right way, singing, — • 

'* Come hither, you that walk along the way, 
See how the pilgrims fare that go astray : 
They catched are in an entangled net, 
'Cause they good counsel lightly did forget. 
'Tis true, they rescu'd were \ but yet, you see, 
They're scourged to boot : let this your caution be." 

Now, after a while, they perceived, afar off, one 
coming softly, and alone, all along the highway, to 
meet them. Then said Christian to his fellow. Yonder 
is a man with his back towards Zion, and he is coming 
to meet us. 

Hope. I see him ; let us take heed to ourselves now^ 
lest he should prove a Flatterer also. So he drew 
nearer and nearer, and at last came up to them. His 
name was Atheist, and he asked them whither they 
were going. 

Chr. We are going to Mount Zion. 

Then Atheist fell into a VQry great laughter. 

Chr. What's the meaning of your laughter? 

Atheist. I laugh to see what ignorant persons you 
are to take upon you so tedious a journey, and yet 
are like to have nothing but your travel for your pains. 

Chr. Why, man, do you think we shall not be re- 
ceived ? 

Atheist. Received ! There is not such a place as 
you dream of in all this world. 

Chr. But there is in the world to come. 

Atheist. When I was at home in my own country 
I heard as you now affirm; and, from that hearing, went 
out to see, and have been seeking this city these twenty 
years, but find no more of it than I did the first day I 
set out, (Eccles. 10 ; 15 ; Jer. 17 2 15.) 



226 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

Che. We have botli heard, and believe, that there 
is such a place to be found. 

Atheist. Had not I, when at home, believed, I had 
not come thus far to seek ; but, finding none (and yet 
I should, had there been such a place to be found, for I 
Aave gone to seek it farther than you), I am going back 
again, and will seek to refresh myself with the things 
that I then cast away, for hopes of that which I now 
see is not. 

Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful, his compar.- 
ion, Is it true which this man hath said ? 

Hope. Take heed, he is one of the Flatterers. Re- 
member what it cost us once already for our hearkening 
to such kind of fellows. What ! no Mount Zion ! Did 
we not see from the Delectable Mountains the gate of 
the city? Also, are we not now to walk by faith? (2 
Cor. 5: 7.) Let us go on, lest the man with the whip 
overtake us ao;-ain. You should have tauo'ht me that 
lesson, which I will sound you in the ears withal : 
*' Cease, my son, to hear the instruction that causeth to 
err from the words of knowledge." (Prov. 19 : 27.) I 
say, my brother, cease to hear him, and let us "believe 
to the saving of the soul." (Heb. 10: 39.) 

Chr. My brother, I did not put the question to 
thee, for that I doubted of the truth of our belief my* 
self, but to prove thee, and to fetch from thee a fruit of 
the honesty of thy heart. As for this man, I know that 
he is blinded by the god of this world. Let thee and I 
go on, knowing that we have belief of the truth ; and 
" no lie is of the truth." (1 John 2 : 21.) 

Hope. Now do I rejoice in hope of the glory of 
God. 

So they turned away from the man ; and he, laugh- 
ing at them, went his way. 

I them saw ip. my dream, that they went on until 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 227 

fchey came into a certain country whose air naturally 
tended to make one drowsy, if he came a stranger into 
\t. And here Hopeful began to be very dull and heavy 
io sleep ; wherefore he said unto Christian, I do now 
begin to grow so drowsy that I can scarcely hold open 
mine eyes ; let us lie down here, and take one nap. 

Chr. By no means, said the other ; lest, sleeping, 
we never awake more. 

Hope. Why, my brother, sleep is sweet to the labor- 
ing man : we may be refreshed, if we take a nap. 

Chr. Do you not remember that one of the shep- 
herds bid us beware of the Enchanted Ground? He 
meant by that, that we should beware of sleeping ; 
" therefore, let us not sleep, as do others ; but let us 
watch and be sober." (1 Thess. 5 : 6.) 

Hope. I acknowledge myself in a fault ; and had I 
been here alone, I had, by sleeping, run the danger of 
death. I see it is true that the wise man saith, '' Two 
are better than one." (Eccl. 4 : 9.) Hitherto hath thy 
company been my mercy ; and thou shalt have a good 
reward for thy labor. 

Chr. Now, then, said Christian, to prevent drowsi- 
ness in this place, let us fall into good discourse. 

Hope. With all my heart, said the other. 

Chr. Where shall we begin ? 

Hope. Where God began with us. But do you bo- 
gin, if you please. 

Chr. I will sing you first this song : — 

" When saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither. 
And hear how these two pilgrims talk together ; 
Yea, let them learn of them in any wise, 
Thus to keep ope their drowsy, slumbering eyes. 
Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well, 
Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell.** 

Tben Christian began, and said, I will ask yon a 



MS THE fILGRI.VS PROGRESS. 

question. How came von to tlluk :/ irst of doing 
what you do now ? 

Hope. Do tou mean how I came at first to look 
mfter the good of my soul ? 

Chb. Yes, that is mr meaning. 

Hope. I continued a great while in the dd^^ of 
those things which were seen and sold at our fair; 
things which I beliere now would have, had I contin- 
ued in them still, drowned me in perdition and destruo 
tion. 

Chr. What things were they ? 

Hope. All the treasures and riches of the world. 
A' " 'r lighted much in rioting, reTeUing, drinking, 
fr^ _, lying* uncleanness. Sabbath-breaking, and 

what not, that tended to destroy ihe souL But I found 
f : last, by hearing and considering of things that are 
divine, which, indeed, I heard of you, as also of beloved 
Faiihful that was put to death fof his faith and good 
living in Vanity Fair, *- that the end of these things is 
death *' (Eom. 6 : 21-2o) ; and that, " for these things* 
Bike, the wrath of God cometh upon the children of 
disobedience." (Eph. 5 : 6.) 

Chb. And did yon presently fall under the power of 
this convicrion? 

Hope. Xo, I was not willing presently to know the 
evil of sin, nor the damnation that follows upon the 
commission of it ; but endeavored, when my mind at 
fizst begaa to be shaken with the word, to shut mine 
eyes against the light thereofi 

Chb. But what was the cause of your carrying of it 
tlms to the first workings of God s blessed Spirit upon 
yoo? 

Hope. The causes were, L I was ignorant that this 
was the wotk of God upon me. I never thought that 
bj Awakemngs for sin, God at first begins the eonversioB 



THS PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 229 

of a sinner, 2, Sin was ret very sweet to mv flesh, and 
I was loth to leave it, 31 could not tell how to part 
with mine old companions, their presence and actions 
were so desirable unto me. 4:. The hours in which con- 
victions came upon me were so troublesome and such 
heart-affrighting hours, that I could not bear, no, not so 
much as the remembrance of them upon my heart 

Chk. Then, as it seems, sometimes you got rid of 
your trouble ? 

Hope. Yes, verily, but it would come into my mind 
again ; and then I should be as bad, nay, worse, than I 
wa.s before. 

Che. TVhy, what was it that brought your iia« fc 
mind again ? 

Hope. Many things ; a^. — 

1. If I did not meet a good man in these streeti; or 

2. If I have heard any read in the Bible ; or, 

3. If mine head did begin to ache ; or, 

4. If I were told that some of my neighbors weff« 
sick; or, 

5. If I heard the bell toU for some that were dead ; or, 

6. If I thought of dving mvself ; or, 

7. If I heard that sudden death happened io othea. 

8. But especially when I thought of myselt tbat I 
must quickly come to judgment. 

Che. And could you at any time, with ease, get off 
the guilt of sin, when by any of these ways it came 
upon you? 

Hope. Xo, not I ; for then they got faster hold of 
my conscience ; and then, if I did but think of going 
back to sin (though my mind was turned against it), it 
would be double torment to me. 

Hope. And how did you then ? 

Chb. I thought I must endeavor to mend mj lii» ; 
« ebe, thought I, I am sure to be <^ATAned. 



«30 THE PILGRIM^S PROGRESS. 

Chb. And did you endeavor to mend ^ 

Hope. Yes, and fled from not only my sins, but 
sinful company too, and betook me to religious duties^ 
as praying, reading, weeping for sin, speaking truth to 
my neighbors, &c. These things did I, with many 
others, too much here to relate. 

Chr. And did you think yourself well, then? 

Hope. Yes, for a while ; but at the last m}'- trouble 
came tumbling upon me again, and that over the neck 
of all my reformations. 

Chr. How came that about, since you were now 
reformed ? 

Hope. There were several things brought it upon 
me, especially such savings as these : " All our 
righteousness are as filthy rags." (Isa. 64 : 6.) " By 
the works of the law shall no flesh be justified." (Gab 
2 : 16.) " When ye have done all these things, say» 
We are unprofitable" (Luke 17 : 10) ; with many more 
inch like. From whence I began to reason with my- 
self thus : If all my righteousness are as filthy rags ; if, 
by the deeds of the law no man can be justified ; and if, 
when we have done all, we are yet unprofitable, then is 
it but folly to think of heaven by the law. I further 
thought thus : If a man runs a hundred pounds into 
the shopkeeper's debt, and after that shall pay for all 
that he shall fetch i yet if his old debt stand still in the 
book uncrossed, the shopkeeper may sue him for it, and 
cast him into prison, till he shall pay the debt. 

Chr. Well, and how did you apply this to yourself? 

Hope. Why, I thought thus with myself: I have 
by my sins run a great way into God's book, and my 
now reforming will not pay off that score ; therefore I 
should think still, under all my present amendments. 
But how shall I be freed from that damnation that I 
brought myself in danger of by my former transgre»«4oii8. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 23a 

Chr. a very good application : but pray go on. 

Hope. Another thing that hath troubled me ever 
Bince my late amendments, is, that if I look narrowly 
into the best of what I do now, I still see sin, new sin, 
mixing itself with the best of that I do ; so that now I 
am forced to conclude, that notwithstanding my former 
fond con®eits of myself and duties, I have committed 
sin enough in one day to send me to hell, though my 
former life had been faultless. 

Che. And what did you then ? 

Hope. Do! I could not tell what to do, until I broke 
my mind to Faithful ; for he and I were well acquainted. 
And he told me, that unless I could obtain the right- 
eousness of a man that never had sinned, neither mine 
own, nor all the righteousness of the world, could 
save me. 

Chr. And did you think he spake true ? 

Hope. Had he told me so when I was pleased and 
satisfied with mine own amendments, I had called him 
fool for his pains ; but now, since I see mine own 
infirmity, and the sin which cleaves to my best perform- 
ances, I have been forced to be of his opinion. 

Chr. But did you think, when at first he suggested 
it to you, that there was such a man to be found, of 
whom it might justly be said, that he never committed 
sin? 

Hope. I must confess the words at first sounded 
strangely ; but, after a little more talk and company 
with him, I had full conviction about it. 

Chr. And did you ask him what man this was, and 
how you must be justified by him ? 

Hope. Yes, and he told me it was the Lord Jesus, 
that dwelleth on the right hand of the Most High. 
(Heb. 10 : 12-21.) And thus, said he, you must be 
justified by him, even by trusting to what He hath done 



jl^a THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

by Himself in the days of His flesh, and suffered when 
He did hang on the tree. (Rom. 4 ; 5 ; Col. 1 : 14 ; 
1 Pet. 1: 19.) I asked him further, how that man's 
righteousness could be of such efficacy as to justify 
another before God. And he told me. He was the 
mighty God, and did what He did, and died the death 
also, not for Himself, but for me ; to whom His doings, 
and the worthiness of them, should be imputed, if I be* 
lieved on Him. 

Chr. And what did you then? 

HoPEo I made my objections against my believing, 
for that I thought he was not willing to save me. 

Chr. And what said Faithful to you, then ? 

Hope. He bid me go to Him, and see. Then I said 
it was presumption. He said. No ; for I was invited 
to come. (Matt. 11 : 28.) Then he gave me a book of 
Jesus' inditing, to encourage me the more freely to 
comer : and he said, concerning that book, that every 
jot and tittle thereof stood firmer than heaven and earth. 
(Matt. 24 : 35.) Then I asked him what I must do 
when I came ; and he told me, I must entreat upon my 
knees (Psalm 95 : 6 : Dan. 6 : 10), with all my heart and 
soul (Jer. 29 : 12, 13), the Father to reveal Him to me. 
Then I asked him, further, how I must make my suppli- 
cations to Him; and he said. Go, and thou shalt find 
Him upon a mercy-seat, where he sits all the year long, 
to give pardon and forgiveness to them that come. 
(Exod. 25: 22; Lev. 16 : 2 ; Num.7: 89; Heb. 4: 
16.^ Ji told him, that I knew not what to say when I 
came: and he bid me say to this effect : " God be merci- 
ful to me a sinner," and make me to know and believe 
in Jesus Christ ; for I see that if His righteousness had 
not Dt^en, or I have not faith in that righteousness, I am 
uttenv cast away. Lord, \ have heard that Thou art a 
mercitul God, and hast ordained that Thy Son Jesus 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 233 

Christ should be the Saviour of the world , and, more- 
over, that Thou art willing to bestow Him upon such a 
poor sinner as I am ; — and I am a sinner, indeed. Lord., 
take therefore this opportunity, and magnify Thy grace 
in the salvation of my soul, through Thy Son Jesus 
Christ. Amen. 

Chr. And did you do as you were bidden? 

Hope. Yes ; over, and over, and over. 

Chr. And did the Father reveal the Son to you ? 

Hope. No ; not at the first, nor second, nor third, 
oor fourth, nor fifth ; no, nor at the sixth time, neither. 

Chr. What did you then ? 

Hope. What '^ Why, I could not tell what to do. 

Chr. Had you no thoughts of leaving off praying ? 

Hope. Yes, and a h^indred times twice told. 

Chr. And what was the reason you did not I 

Hope. I believed that it was true which hath been 
told me, to wit, that without the righteousness of this* 
Christ, all the world could not save me ; and therefore, 
thought I with myself, if I leave off, I die, and I can but 
die at the Throne of Grace. And withal, this came into 
my mind, '' If it tarry, wait for it ; because it will surely 
come, and will not tarry." (Hab. 2:3.) So I con- 
tinued praying until the Father showed me His Son. 

Chr. And how was He revealed unto you? 

Hope. I did not see Him with ni}^ bodily eyes, but 
with the eyes of mine understanding (Eph. 1:18, 19) \ 
and thus it was : One day I was very sad, I think sadder 
than at any one time in my life ; and this sadness was 
through a fresh sight of the greatness and vileness of 
my sins. And as I was then looking for nothing but 
hell, and the everlasting damnation of my soul, suddenly, 
as I thought, I saw the Lord Jesus look down from 
heaven upon me, and saying, " Believe on the Lord 
Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." (Acts 16 : 31.) 



^34 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

But I replied, Lord, I am a great, a very great, sin- 
ner ! And He answered, " My grace is sufficient for 
thee." (2 Cor. 12. 9.) Then I said, But, Lord, what is 
believing ? And then I saw from that saying, " He that 
Cometh to me shall never hunger, and he that believeth 
on me shall never thirst " (John 6 ; 35), that believing 
and coming was all one , and that he that came, that is, 
that ran out in his heart and affections after salvation 
by Christ, he indeed believed in Christ. Then the 
water stood in mine eyes, and I asked further. But, 
Lord, may such a great sinner as I am be indeed ac- 
cepted of Thee, and saved by Thee ? And I heard 
him say, " And him that cometh to me, I will in no wise 
cast out." (John 6 ; 37.) Then I said. But how. Lord, 
must I consider of Thee in my coming to Thee, that 
my faith may be placed aright upon Thee ? Then He 
said, Christ Jesus came into the Avorld to save sinners. 
(Tim. 1 : 15.) He is the end of the law for righteous^ 
ness to every one that believes. (Rom. 10 : 4, and chap. 
4.) He died for our sins, and rose again for our justifi* 
cation. (Rom. 4 : 25.) He loved us, and washed us 
from our sins in His own blood. (Rev. 1 : 5.) He is 
the Mediator between God and us. (1 Tim. 2 : 5.) He 
ever liveth to make intercession for us. (Heb. 7 : 25.) 
From all which I gathered, that I must look for right- 
eousness in His person, and for satisfaction for my sins 
by His blood : that what he did in obedience to His 
Father's law, and in submitting to the penalty thereof, 
was not for Himself, but for him that will accept it for 
his salvation, and 'ise thankful. And now was my heart 
full of joy, mine eyes full of tears, and mine affections 
running over with love to the name, people, and ways 
of Jesus Christ. 

Che. This was a revelation of Christ to your sout 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 235 

Jndeed. But tell me particularly what effect this had 
upon your spirit. 

Hope. It made me see that all the world, uotwith- 
standing all the righteousness thereof, is in a state of 
condemnation It made me see that God the Father, 
though He be just, can justly justify the coming sinner. 
It made me greatly ashamed of the vileness of my 
former life, and confounded me with the sense of mine 
own ignorance ; for there never came a thought into 
my heart before now that showed me so the beauty of 
Jesus Christ. It made me love a holy life, and long to 
do something for the honor and glory of the name of 
the Lord Jesus. Yea, I thought that had I now a 
thousand gallons of blood in my body, I could spill it 
all for the sake of the Lord Jesus. 

I saw then, in my dream, that Hopeful looked back, 
and saw Ignorance, whom they had left behind, coming 
after. Look, said he to Christian, how far yonder 
youngster loitereth behind. 

Chr. Aye, aye, I see him : he caret'n not for our 
company, 

Hope. But I trow it would not have hurt him, had 
he kept pace with us hitherto. 

Chr. That is true ; but I warrant you he thinketh 
otherwise. 

Hope. That I think he doth ; but, however, let us 
tarry for him. 

So they did. 

Then Christian said to him. Come away, man ; why 
do you stay so behind ? 

Ignor. I take my pleasure in walking alone, even 
more a great deal than in company, unless I like it the 
oetter. 

Then said Christian to Hopeful (but softly). Did I 
act tell you he cared not for our company ? But, how- 



236 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

ever, said he, come up, and let us talk away the time 
in this solitary place. Then, directing his speech to 
Ignorance, he said, Come, how do you do ? How stands 
it beween God and your soul, now ? 

Ignok. I hope well ; for I am always fall of good 
motions, that come into my mind to comfort me as I 
walk. 

Chr. What good motions ? Pray, tell us. 

Ignok. Why, I think of God and heaven. 

Chr. So do the devils and damned souls. 

Ignor. But I think of them, and desire them. 

Chr, So do many that are never like to come there. 
" The soul of the sluggard desireth, and hath nothing." 
(Prov. 13 : 4.) 

Ignor. But I think of them, and leave all for them. 

Chr. That I doubt : for to leave all is a very hard 
matter ; yea, a harder matter than many are aware o£ 
But why, or by what, art thou persuaded that thou 
has left all for God in heaven ? 

Ignor. My heart tells me so. 

Chr. The wise man says, " He that trusteth m his 
own heart is a fool." (Prov. 28: 26) 

Ignor. That is spoken of an evil heart ; but mine ia 
a good one. 

Chr. But how dost thou prove that ? 

Ignor. It comforts me in hopes of heaven. 

Chr. That may be through its deceitfulness ; for a 
man's heart may minister comfort to him, in the hopes 
of that thing for which he has yet no ground to hope. 

Ignor. But my heart and life agree together ; and 
therefore my hope is well grounded. 

Chr. Who told thee that thy heart and life agree 
together ? 

Ignor. My heart tells me so. 

Chr. *' Ask my fellow if I be a thief." Thy heart 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 237 

tells thee so ! Except the Word of God beareth wit- 
ness in this matter, other testimony is of no value. 

Ignor. But if} it not a good heart that hath good 
thoughts ? and is not that a good life that is according 
to God's commandments ? 

Chr. Yes, that is a good heart that hath good 
thoughts, and that is a good life that is according to 
God's commandments ; but it is one thing, indeed, to 
have these, and another thing only to think so. 

Ignor. Pray, what count you good thoughts, and 
life according to God's commandments ? 

Chr. There are good thoughts of divers kinds : 
some respecting ourselves, some God, some Christ, and 
gome other things. 

Ignor. What be good thoughts respecting our- 
selves ? 

Chr. Such as agree with the Word of God. 

Ignor. When do our thoughts of ourselves agree 
with the Word of God ? 

Chr. When we pass the same judgment upon our- 
selves which the Word passes. To explain myself: 
the Word of God saith of persons in a natural condi- 
tion, *' There is none righteous, there is none that doeth 
good." (Rom. 3 : 10.) It saith also, that " every imag- 
ination of the heart of a man is only evil, and that con- 
tinually." (Gen. 6 : 5.) And again, " The imagination 
of man's heart is evil from his youth." (Gen. 8 : 21.) 
Now, then, when we think thus of ourselves, having 
sense thereof, then are our thoughts good ones, because 
according to the Word of God. 

Ignor. I will never believe that my heart is thus 
bad. 

Chr. Therefore thou never hadst one good thought 
concerning thyself in thy life. But let me go on. Aa 
the Word passeth a judgment upon our ways ; and when' 



2^8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

the thoughts of our hearts and ways agree with the 
judgment which the Word giveth of both, then are both 
good, because agreeing thereto. 

Ignor. Make out your meaning. 

Chr. Why, the Word of God saith, that "man's 
ways are crooked ways " ^Psalm 125 : 5), "- not good, but 
perverse." (Prov. 2 : 15.) It saith, they are naturally 
out of the good way, that they have not known it. 
(Rom. 3 ; 12.) Now, when a man thus thinketh of hia 
ways, I say, when he doth sensibly, and with heart- 
humiliation, thus think, then hath he good thoughts of 
his own ways, because his thoughts now agree with tha 
judgment of the Word of God. 

Ignor. What are good thoughts concerning God ? 

Chr. Even as I have said concerning ourselves, 
when our thoughts of God do agree with what the Word 
saith of him ; and that is, when we think of His being 
and attributes as the Word hath taught ; of which, I 
can not now discourse at large. But to speak of Him 
with reference to us : then have we right thoughts of 
God when we think that He knows us better than we 
know ourselves, and can see sin in us when and where 
we can see none in ourselves ; when we think he knows 
our inmost thoughts, and that our heart, with all its 
depths, is always open unto His eyes ; also, when we 
think that all our righteousness stinks in His nostrils, 
and that therefore He cannot abide to see us stand be- 
fore Him in any confidence, even in all our best per- 
formances. 

Ignor. Do you think that I am such a fool as to 
think that God can see no farther than I ? or that I 
would come up to God in the best of my performances? 

Chr. Why, how dost thou think in this matter? 

Ignor. Why, to be short, I think I must believe in 
Christ for justification. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 239 

Chr. How! Think thou must believe in Christ, 
when thou seest not thy need of him ! Thou neither 
seest thy original nor actual infirmities ; but hast such 
an opinion of thyself, and of what thou doest, as plainly 
renders thee to be one that did never see the necessity 
of Christ's personal righteousness to justify thee before 
God. How, then, dost thou say, I believe in Christ? 

Ignor. I believe well enough, for all that. 

Chr. How dost thou believe ? 

Ignor. I believe that Christ died for sinners ; and 
that I shall be justified before God from the curse, 
through His gracious acceptance of my obedience to 
His laws. Or thus, Christ makes my duties, that are 
religious, acceptable to His Father, by virtue of His 
merits ; and so shall 1 be justified. 

Chr. Let me give an answer to this confession of 
thy faith. 

1. Thou believest with a fantastical faith ; for this 
faith is nowhere described in the Word. 

2. Thou believest with a false faith; because it 
taketh justification from the personal righteousness of 
Christ, and applies it to thy own. 

3. This faith maketh not Christ a justifier of thy 
person, but of thy actions ; and of thy person for thy 
action's sake, which is false. 

4. Therefore this faith is deceitful, even such as will 
leave thee under wrath in the day of God Almighty. 
For true justifying faith puts the soul, as sensible of its 
lost condition by the law, upon flying for refuge u*ito 
Christ's righteousness (which righteousness of His is 
not an act of grace, by which He maketh, for justifica- 
tion, thy obedience accepted with God, but His per- 
sonal obedience to the law, in doing and suffering for 
us, what that required at our hands). This righteous- 
ness, I say, true faith accepteth ; under the skirt of 



440 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

which the soul being shrouded, and by it presented aa 
spotless before God, it is accepted, and acquitted from 
condemnation. 

Ignor. What ! Would you have us trust to what 
C^Tist in His own person has done without us ? This 
conceit would loosen the reins of our lust, and tolerate 
us to live as we list. For what matter how we live, if 
we may be justified by Christ's personal righteousness 
from all, when we believe it ? 

Chr. Ignorance is thy name, and, as thy name is, 
so art thou : even this thy answer demonstrateth what 
I say. Ignorant thou art of what justifying righteous- 
ness is, and as ignorant how to secure thy soul through 
the faith of it, from the heavy wrath of God. Yea, 
thou also art ignorant of the true effects of saving faith 
in this righteousness of Christ, which is to bow and 
win over the heart to God in Christ, to love His name, 
His Word, ways, and people ; and not as thou ignor- 
Jintly imaginest. 

Hope. Ask him, if ever he had Christ revealed to 
him trom heaven. 

Ignor. What ! You are a man for revelations ! I 
do believe, that what both you, and all the rest of you, 
say about the matter, is but the fruit of distracted 
brains. 

Hope. Why, man, Christ is so hid in God from the 
natural apprehensions of the flesh, that He cannot by 
any man be savingly known, unless God the Father re- 
veals Him to him. 

Ignor. That is your faith, but not mine ; yet mine, 
I doubt not, is as good as yours, though I have not in 
my head so many whimsies as you. 

Chr. Give me leave to put in a word. You ought 
not so slightly to speak of this matter : for this I will 
boldly affirm, even as my good companion hath done^ 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 241 

fchat no man can know Jesus Christ but by the revela- 
tion of the Father : yea, and faith, too, by which the 
soul layeth hold upon Christ (if it be right), must be 
wrought by the exceeding greatness of His mighty 
power (Matt. 11: 27; 1. Cor. 12: 3; Eph. 1: 17-19); 
the working of which faith, I perceive, poor Ignorance, 
thou art ignorant of. Be awakened, then ; see thine 
own wretchedness, and fly to the Lord Jesus ; and by 
His righteousness, which is the righteousness of God 
(for He Himself is God), thou shalt be delivered from 
condemnation. 

Ignor. You go so fast I cannot keep pace with you. 
Do you go on before ; I must stay awhile behind. 
Then the}^ said, — 

•* Well, Ignorance, wilt thou yet foolish be. 
To slight good counsel, ten times given thee ? 
And if thou yet refuse it, thou shalt know, 
Ere long, the evil of thy doing so. 
Remember, man, in time ; stoop, do not fear ; 
Good counsel, taken well, saves ; therefore hear. 
But if thou yet shalt slight it, thou wilt be 
The loser, Ignorance, I'll warrant thee." 



THE TENTH STAGE, 



Then Christian addressed himself thus to his fei- 
(ow: — 

Chr. Well, come, my good Hopeful, I perceive that 
thou and I must walk by ourselves again. 

So I saw, in my dream, that they went on apace 
before, and Ignorance he came hobbling after. Then 
said Christian to his companion, I much pity this poor 
man ; it will certainlv go ill with him at last. 

16 



542 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Hope. Alas ! there are abundance in our town i 
his condition, whole families, yea, whole streets, an(? 
that of pilgrims, too ; and if there be so many in our 
parts, how many, think you, must there be in the placi 
where he was born ? 

Chr. Indeed, the Word saith, "He hath blinded 
their eyes, lest they should see," &c. But, now we 
are by ourselves, what do you think of such men? 
Have they at no time, think you, convictions of sin, 
and so, consequently, fears that their state is danger, 
ous ? 

Hope. Nay, do you answer that question yourself, 
for you are the elder man. 

Che. Then I say, sometimes (as I think) they may; 
but they, being naturally ignorant, understand not that 
such convictions tend to their good; and therefore 
they do desperately seek to stifle them, and presumptu- 
ously continue to flatter themselves in the way of their 
own hearts. 

Hope. I do believe, as you say, that fear tends 
much to men's good, and to make them right at their 
beginning to go on pilgrimage. 

Chr. Without all doubt it doth, if he be right ; for 
so says the Word, " The fear of the Lord is the begin- 
ning of wisdom." (Job 28 : 28 ; Psalm 111 : 10 ; Prov. 
1 : 7 ; and 9 : 10.) 

Hope. How will you describe right fear ? 

Chr. True or right fear is discovered by three 
things : — 

1. By its rise ; it is caused by saving convictions of 
sin. 

2. It driveth the soul to lay fast hold ^^ '^Hrist for 
salvation. 

3. It begetteth and continueth in the soul a great 
reverence of God, His Word, and way&; keeping it 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 243 

tender, and making it afraid to turn from them, to the 
right hand or to the left, to any thing that may dis- 
honor God, break its peace, grieve the Spirit, or cause 
the enemy to speak reproachfully. 

Hope. Well said ; I believe you have said the 
truth. Are we now almost got past the Enchanted 
Ground ? 

Chr. Why ? Are you weary of this discourse ? 
Hope. No, verily ; but that I would know where 
we are. 

Che. We have not now above two miles farther to 
go thereon. But let us return to our matter. Now, 
the ignorant know not that such convictions as tend 
to put them in fear, are for their good, and therefore 
they seek to stifle them. 

Hope. How do they seek to stifle them ? 
Chr. 1. They think that those fears are wrought 
by the devil (though, indeed, they are wrought of God), 
and, thinking so, they resist them, as things that di- 
rectly tend to their overthrow. 2. They also think 
that these fears tend to the spoiling of their faith ; 
when, alas for them, poor men that they are, they have 
none at all ; and therefore they harden their hearts 
against them. 3. They presume they ought not to 
fear, and therefore, in spite of them, wax presumptu- 
ously confident. 4. They see that those fears tend to 
take away from them their pitiful old self-holiness, and 
therefore they resist them with all their might. 

Hope. I know something of this myself ; for before 
I knew myself it was so with me. 

Chr. Well, we will leave, at this time, our neighbor 
Ignorance by himself, and fall upon another profitable 
question. 

Hope. With all my heart ; but you shall still begin. 
Chr. Well, then, did you know, about ten years 



244 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 



ago, one Temporary in your parts, who was a forward 
man in religion, then ? 

Hope. Know him ! yes ; he dwelt in Graceless, a 
town about two miles off Honesty, and he dwelt next 
door to one Turnback. 

Chr. Right ; he dwelt under the same roof with 
him. Well, that man was much awakened once. I 
believe that then he had some sight of his sins, and of 
the wages that were due thereto. 

Hope. I am of 3'our mind, for (my house not being 
above three miles from him) he would ofttimes come to 
me, and that with many tears. Truly, I pitied the man, 
and was not altogether without hope of him ; but 
one may see it is not every one that cries, "• Lord, 
Lord ! " 

Chr. He told me once that he was resolved to go 
on a pilgrimage, as we go now ; but all of a sudden he 
grew acquainted with one Saveself, and then he became 
a stranger to me. 

Hope. Now, since we are talking about him, let us 
a little inquire into the reason of the sudden backslid 
ing of him and such others. 

Chr. It may be very profitable ; but do you begin. 

Hope. Well then, there are, in my judgment, four 
reasons for it : — 

1. Though the consciences of such men are awak- 
ened, yet their minds are not changed ; therefore, when 
the power of guilt weareth away, that which provoketh 
them to be religious ceaseth. Wherefore they natur- 
ally turn to their old course again ; even as we see th^ 
dog that is sick of what he hath eaten, so long as hi» 
sickness prevails, he vomits and casts up all ; not that 
he doth this of a free mind (if we may say a dog has a 
mmd), but because it troubleth his stomach. But now, 
when his sickness is over, and so ^is stomach eased, 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 24^ 

his desires being not at all alienated from his vomit, 
he turns him about, and licks up all. And so it is true 
which is written, " The dog is turned to his own vomit 
again." (2 Pet. 2 : 22.) Thus, I say, being hot for 
heaven, by virtue only of the sense and fear of the tor- 
ments of hell, as their sense of hell and fear of damna- 
tion chills and cools, so their desires for heaven and 
salvation cool also. So then it comes to pass, that 
when their guilt and fear is gone, their desires for 
heaven and happiness die, and they return to their 
course again. 

2. Another reason is, they have slavish fears that do 
overmaster them. I speak now of the fears that they 
have of men ; " For the fear of man bringeth a snftre.'* 

Prov. 29 : 25.) So then, though they seem to be hot 
for heaven so long as the flames of hell are about their 
ears, yet, when that terror is a little over, they betake 
themselves to second thoughts, namely, that it is good 
to be wise and not to run (for they know not what) the 
hazard of losing all, or, at least, of bringing themselves 
into unavoidable and unnecessary troubles ; and so 
they fall in with the world again. 

3. The shame that attends religion lies also as a 
block in their way ; they are proud and haughty, and 
religion in their eye is low and contemptible: there- 
fore, when they have lost their sense of hell and the 
wrath to come, they return again to their former 
course. 

4. Guilt, and to meditate terror, are grievous to 
them ; they like not to see their misery before they 
come into it; though perhaps the sight of it at first, if 
they loved that sight, might make them fly whither 
the righteous run and are safe. But because they do, 
as I hinted before, ever shun the thoughts of guilt and 
terror, therefore, when once they are rid of their awak* 



2^6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

enings about the terrors and wrath of God, they harden 
their hearts gladl}^, and choose such ways as will harden 
them more and more. 

Chr You are pretty near the business ; for the 
bottom of all is for want of a change iii their mind and 
will. And thercforr; they are but like the felon that 
standeth before the judge : he quakes and trembles, 
and seems to repent most heartily, but the bottom of 
all is the fear of a halter ; not that he hath any detesta- 
tion of the offence, as Is evident ; because, let but this 
man have his liberty, and he will be a thief, and so a 
rogue still , whereas, if his mind was changed, he would 
be otherwise. 

Hope. Now I have showed you the reason of their 
going back, do you show me the manner thereof. 

Chr. So I will, willingly. 

1. They draw off their thoughts, all that they may, 
from the remembrance of God, death, and judgment to 
come. 

2. Then they cast off by degrees privr.te duties^ as 
closet praj^er, curbing their lusts, watching, sorrow for 
sin, and the like. 

3. Then they shun the company of lively and warm 
Christians. 

4. After that, they grow cold to public duty, as 
hearing, reading, godly conference, and the like. 

5. They then begin to pick holes, as we say, in the 
coats of some of the godly, and that devilishly, that 
they may have a seeming color to throw religion (for 
the sake of some infirmities they have espied in them) 
behind their backs. 

6. Then they begin to adhere to, and associate 
themselves with, carnal, loose, and wanton men. 

7. Then they give way to carnal and wanton dis- 
courses in secret , and glad are they if they can see 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 247 

sueh things in any that are counted honest, that they 
may the more boldly do it through their example. 

8, After this they begin to play with little sins 
openly. 

9, And then, being hardened, they show themselves 
as they are. Thus, being launched again into the gulf 
of misery, unless a miracle of grace prevent it, they 
everlastingly perish in their own deceivings. 

Now I saw, in my dream, that by this time the pil- 
grims were got over the Enchanted Ground, and enter- 
ing into the country of Bculah (Isa. 62 i 4-12), whose 
air was very sweet and pleasant, the way lying directly 
through it, they solaced themselves there for a season* 
Yea, here they heard continually the singing of birds, 
and saw every day the flowers appear in the earth, and 
heard the voice of the turtle in the land. (Song 2 . 
10-12.) In this country the sun shineth night and 
day : wherefore tliis was beyond the Valley of the 
Shadow of Death, and also out of the reach of Giant 
Despair ; neither could they from this place so much 
as see Doubting Castle. Here they were within sight 
of the city they were going to ; also here met them 
some of the inhabitants thereof; for in this land the 
Shining Ones commonly walked, because it was upon 
the borders of heaven. In this land, also, the con- 
tract between the bride and the bridegroom was re- 
newed ; yea, here, " as the bridegroom rejoiceth over 
the bride, so doth God rejoice over them." (Isa. 62 : 5.) 
Here they had no want of corn and wine ; for in this 
place they met with abundance of what they had sought 
for in all their pilgrimage. (Isa. 62 : 8, 9.) Here they 
heard voices from out of the city ; loud voices, saying, 
'* Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy salvation 
Cometh ! Behold, his reward is with him ! " (Isa. 62 : 11, 
12.) Here all the inhabitants of the country called 



248 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

them " the holy people, the redeemed of the Lord, 
sought out," &c. 

Now, as they walked in this land, they had more re* 
joicing than in parts more remote from the kingdom to 
which they were bound ; and drawing near to the city, 
they had yet a more perfect view thereof. It w^as 
builded of pearls and precious stones, also the streets 
thereof were paved with gold ; so that, by reason of 
the natural glory of the city, and the reflection of the 
sunbeams upon it. Christian with desire fell sick. 
Hopeful also had a fit or two of the same disease. 
Wherefore here they lay by it a while, crying out, be- 
cause of their pangs, " If you see my Beloved, tell Him 
that I am sick of love." 

But being a little strengthened, and better able to 
bear their sickness, they walked on their way, and 
came yet nearer and nearer, where were orchards, vine- 
yards, and gardens, and their gates opened into the 
highway. Now, as they came up to these places, be- 
hold, the gardener stood in the way ; to whom the pil- 
grims said. Whose goodly vineyards and gardens are 
these? He answered, They are the King's, and are 
planted here for His own delight, and also for tho 
solace of pilgrims. So the gardener had them into the 
vineyards, and bid them refresh themselves with the 
dainties (Deut. 23 : 24) ; he also showed them there the 
King's walks and arbors, where he delighted to be. 
And here they tarried and slept. 

Now I beheld, in my dream, that they talked more 
i» their sleep at this time than ever they did in all 
their journe^y ; and, being in a muse thereabout, the 
gardener said even to me. Wherefore museth thou at 
the matter ? it is the nature of the fruit of the grapes 
of these vineyards, " to go down so sweetly as to cause 
the lips of them that are asleep to speak." (Song 7 : 9.) 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 249 

So I saw that, when they awoke, they addressed 
themselves to go up to the city. But, as I said, the re- 
flection of the sun upon the city — for the city was pure 
gold (Rev. 21 : 18), — was so extremely glorious, that 
they could not as yet with open face behold it, but 
through an instrument made for that purpose. (2 Cor. 
3: 18.) So I saw that as they went on there met them 
two men in raiment that shone like gold, also their 
faces shone as the light. 

These men asked the pilgrims whence they came ; 
and they told them. They also asked them where they 
had lodged, what difficulties and dangers, what com- 
forts and pleasures, they had met with in the way; 
and they told them. Then said the men that met 
them. You have but two difficulties more to meet with, 
and then you are in the city. 

Christian then, and his companion, asked the men 
to go along with them : so they told them that they 
would ; But, said they, you must obtain it by your own 
faith. So I saw, in my dream, that they went on to- 
gether till they came in sight of the gate. 

Now I further saw, that betwixt them and the gate 
was a river; but there was no bridge to go over, and 
the river was very deep. At the sight, therefore, of 
this river, the pilgrims were much stunned; but the 
men that went with them said. You must go through, 
or you cannot come at the gate. 

The pilgrims then began to inquire if there was no 
other way to the gate. To which they answered. Yes ; 
but there hath not any, save two, to wit, Enoch and 
Elijah, been permitted to tread that path since the 
foundation of the world, nor shall until the last trumpet 
shall sound. The pilgrims then, especially Christian, 
began to despond in their mind, and looked this way 
and that, but no way could be found by them by which 



25© THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

they might escape the river. Then they asked the 
men if the waters were all of a depth. They said, No 
yet they could not help them in that case ; for, said 
they, you shall find it deeper or shallower as you believe 
in the King of the place. 

Then they addressed themselves to the water, and 
entering, Christian began to sink, and crying out to 
his good friend Hopeful, he said, " I sink in deep 
waters ; the billows go over my head ; all His waves go 
over me." Selah. 

Then said the other, Be of good cheer, my brother • 
I feel the bottom, and it is good. Then said Christian, 
Ah, my friend, the sorrows of death have compassed 
me about, I shall not see the land that flows with milk 
and honey. And with that a great darkness and horror 
fell upon Christian, so that he could not see before him. 
Also here he in a great measure lost his senses, so that 
he could neither remember nor orderly talk of any of 
those sweet refreshments that he had met with in the 
way of his pilgrimage. But all the words that he spoke 
still tended to discover that he had horror of mind, and 
heart-fears that he should die in that river, and never 
obtain entrance in at the gate. Here also, as they that 
stood by perceived, he was much in the troublesome 
thoughts of the sins that he had committed, both since 
and before he began to be a pilgrim. It was also ob- 
served that he was troubled with apparitions of hob- 
goblins and evil spirits ; for, ever and anon he would 
intimate so much by words. 

Hopeful, therefore, here had much ado to keep his 
brother's head above water ; yea, sometimes he would 
be quite gone down, and then, ere a while, he would 
rise up again half dead. Hopeful did also endeavor to 
comfort him, saying. Brother, I see the gate, and men 
standing by to receive us. But Christian would answer, 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 251 

it is you, it is you they wait for ; for you have been 
hopeful ever since I knew you. And so have 3^ou, said 
he to Christian. Ah, brother (said he), surely if I was 
right He would now arise to help me ; but for my sins 
He hath brought me into the snare, and hath left me. 
Then said Hopeful, My brother, you have quite forgot 
the text, where it is said of the wicked, " There are no 
bands in their death, but their strength is firm ; they 
are not troubled as other men, neither are they plagued 
like other men." (Psalm 73: 4, 5.) These troubles and 
distresses that you go through in these waters, are no 
sign that God hath forsaken you ; but are sent to try 
you, whether you will call to mind that which hereto- 
fore you have received of His goodness, and live upon 
Him in your distresses. 

Then I saw, in my dream, that Christian was in a 
muse a while. To whom also Hopeful added these 
words. Be of good cheer, Jesus Christ maketh thee 
whole. And with that Christian brake out with a loud 
voice, Oh, I see Him again , and He tells me, " When 
thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee ; 
and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee." 
(Isa. 43 : 2.) Then they both took courage, and the 
enemy was after that as still as a stone, until they were 
gone over. Christian, therefore, presently found ground 
to stand upon, and so it followed that the rest of the 
river was but shallow. Thus they got over. 

Now, upon the bank of the river, on the other side, 
they saw the two shining men again, who there waited 
for them. Wherefore, being come out of the river, 
they saluted them, saying, We are ministering spirits, 
sent forth to minister to those that shall be the heirs of 
salvation. Thus they went along towards the gate. 

Now you must note, that the city stood upon a 
mighty hill , but the '^il«rriins went up that hill with 



J- a THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

ease, because they had these two men to lead them up 
by the arms : they had likewise left their mortal gar- 
ments behind them in the river ; for though they went 
in with them, they came out without them. They 
therefore went up here with much agility and speed, 
though the foundation upon which the city was framed 
was higher than the clouds ; they therefore went up 
through the region of the air, sweetly talking as they 
went, being comforted because they safely got over the 
river, and had such glorious companions to attend them. 
The talk that they had with the shining ones was 
about the glory of the place ; who told them that the 
beauty and glory of it was inexpressible. There, said 
they, is " Mount Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the in- 
numerable company of angels, and the spirits of just 
men made perfect." (Heb. 12: 22-24.) You are going 
now, said they, to the paradise of God, wherein you 
shall see the tree of life, and eat of the never-fading 
fruits thereof : and when you come there 3^ou shall have 
white robes given you, and your walk and talk shall be 
every day with the King, even all the days of eternity. 
(Rev. 2:7; 3 : 4, 5 ; 22 : 5.) There you shall not see 
again such things as you saw when j^ou were in the 
lower region upon earth : to wit, sorrow, sickness, af- 
fliction, and death : " For the former things are passed 
away." (Rev. 21 -. 4.) You are going now to Abraham, 
to Isaac, and Jacob, and to the prophets, men that God 
hath taken away from the evil to come, and that are 
now " resting upon their beds, each one walking in his 
righteousness." The men then asked. What must we 
do in the holy place ? To whom it was answered, You 
must there receive the comfort of all your toil, and have 
joy for all your sorrow ; you must reap what you have 
sown, even the fruit of all your prayers, and tears, and 
sufferings for the King by the way. (Gal. 6 : 7. 8.) la 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 253 

fthat place you must wear crowns of gold, and enjoy the 
perpetual sight and vision of the Holy One ; for "there 
you shall see Him as He is." (1 John, 3 : 2.) There 
also you shall serve him continually with praise, with 
shouting and thanksgiving, whom you desired to serve 
in the world, though with much diflQculty, because of 
the infirmity of your flesh. There your eyes shall be 
delighted with seeing, and your ears with hearing the 
pleasant voice of the Mighty One. There you shall 
enjoy your friends again that are gone thither before 
you; and there you shall with joy receive even every 
one that follows into the holy place after you. There 
also you will be clothed with glory and majesty, and 
put into an equipage fit to ride out with the King of 
Glory. When He shall come with sound of trumpet 
in the clouds, as upon the wings of the wind, you shall 
come with Him ; and when He shall sit upon the throne 
of judgment, you shall sit by Him ; yea, and when He 
shall pass sentence upon all the workers of iniquity, let 
them be angels or men, you also shall have a voice in 
that judgment, because they were His and your ene- 
mies. Also, when He shall again return to the city^ 
you shall go too with sound of trumpet, and be ever 
with Him. (1 Thess. 4 ; 14-17 ; Jude 14 : 15 ; Dan. 
7 : 9, 10 ; 1 Cor. 6 : 2, 3.) 

Now, while they were thus drawing towards the 
gate, behold, a company of the heavenly host came out 
to meet them : to whom it was said by the other two 
shining ones. These are the men that have loved our 
Lord when they were in the world, and that have 
left all for His holy name ; and He hath sent us to 
fetch them, and we have brought them thus far on their 
desired journey, that they may go in and look their Re- 
deemer in the face with joy. Then the heavenly host 
%f\y^ a great shout, saying, " Blessed are they that are 



254 "^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

called to the marriage-supper of the Lamb." (Rev. 
19 : 9.) There came out also at this time to meet them 
several of the King's trumpters, clothed in white and 
shining raiment, who, with melodious noises and loud, 
made even the heavens to echo with their sound. These 
trumpeters saluted Christian and his fellow with ten 
thousand welcomes from the world ; and this they did 
with shouting and sound of trumpet. 

This done, they compassed them round on every 
side; some went before, some behind, and some on the 
right hand, and some on the left (as it were to guard 
them through the upper regions), continually sounding 
as they went, with melodious noise, in notes on high ; 
so that the very sight was to them that could behold it 
as if heaven itself was come down to meet them. Thus, 
therefore, they walked on together ; and, as they 
walked, ever and anon these trumpters, even with joyful 
sound, would, by mixing their music with looks and 
gestures, still signif}^ to Cliristian and his brother how 
welcome they were into their company, and with what 
gladness they came to meet them. And now were these 
two men, as it were, in heaven, before they came to it, 
being swallowed up with the sight of angels, and with 
hearing of their melodious notes. Here also they had 
the city itself in view : and they thought they heard 
all the bells therein to ring, to Avelcome them thereto. 
But, above all, the warm and joyful thoughts that they 
had about their own dwelling there with such company, 
and that forever and ever ; oh, by what tongue or pen 
can their glorious joy be expressed ! Thus they came 
up to the gate. 

Now when they were come up to the gate, there 
was written over it, in letters of gold, 

"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT DO HIS COMMANDMENTS, 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



255 



THAT THEY MAY HAVE RIGHT TO THE TREE OF 
LIFE, AND MAY ENTER IN THROUGH THE GATES 
INTO THE CITY." 

Then I saw, in my dream, that the shining men bid 
them call at the gate ; the which when they did, some 
from above looked over the gate, to wit, Enoch, Moses, 
and Elijah, &c., to whom it was said. These pilgrims 
are come from the City of Destruction, for the love that 
they bear to the King of this place : and then the pil« 
grims gave in unto them each man his certificate, which 
they had received in the beginning. Those, therefore, 
were carried in unto the King, who, when He had read 
them, said, Where are the men? To whom it was an* 
swered. They are standing without the gate. The 
King then commanded to open the gate, " That the 
righteous nation (said He) that keepeth the truth may 
enter in." (Isa. 26 : 2.) 

Now I saw, in my dream, that these two men went 
in at the gate ; and lo, as they entered, they were 
transfigured ; and they had raiment put on that shone 
like gold. There were also that met them with harps 
and crowns, and gave them to them ; the harps to 
praise withal, and the crowns in token of honor. Then 
I heard in my dream, that all the bells in the city rang 
again for joy, and that it was said unto them. 



I also heard the men themselves sing with a loud voice, 

saying, 

*' BLESSING, AND HONOR, AND GLORY, AND POWER, BB 
UNTO HIM THAT SITTETH UPON THE THRONE, AND 
UNTO THE LAMB, FOR EVER AND EVER." 



2c5 "^HE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

Now, just as the gates were opened to let in the 
men, I looked in after them, and behold, the city jshon© 
like the sun ; the streets also were paved with gold ; 
and in them walked many men, with crowns on their 
heads, palms in their hands, and golden harps, to sing 
rjraises withal. 

There were also of them that had wings, and they 
answered one another without intermission, saying. 
Holy, holy, holy is the Lord. And after that they shut 
up the gates ; which, when I had seen, I wished mysel*^ 
among them. 

Now, while I was gazing upon all these things, I 
turned my head to look back, and saw Ignorance come 
up to the river side , but he soon got over, and that 
without half the difi&culty which the other two men 
met with. For it happened that there was then in that 
place one Vainhope, a ferryman, that with his boat 
helped him over ; so he, as the other I saw^ did ascend 
the hill, to come up to the gate ; only he came alone, 
neither did any man meet him with the least encour- 
agement. When he was come up to the gate, he looked 
up to the writing that was above, and then began to 
knock, supposing that entrance should have been 
quickly administered to him : but he was asked by the 
men that lookctl over the top of the gate, Whence come 
you? and what would you have ? He answered, I have 
ate and drank in the presence of the King, and he has 
taught in our streets. Then they asked him for his cer- 
tificate, that they might go in and show it to the King. 
So he fumbled in his bosom for one, and found none. 
Then said they. Have you none? But the man an- 
swered never a wor^d. So they told the King, but He 
would not come down to ot^ mm, but commanded the 
tiwo shining ones, that conducted Christian and Hope- 
ful to the city, to go out and take Ignorance, and bind 



TaE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. j^y 

him hand and foot, and have him away. Then they 
took him up, and carried him through the air to the 
door that I saw iu the side of the hill, and put him in 
there. Then I saw that there was a way to hell, even 
from the gate of heaven, as well as from the city of De* 
8tructiou. So I awoke, and behold, it was a dream. 

IT 



f^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



CONCLUSION 



Now, reader, I have told my dream to thee. 

See if thou canst interpret it to me, 

Or to thyself, or neighbor : but take heed 

Of misinterpreting ; for that, instead 

Of doing good, will but thyself abuse : 

By misinterpreting, evil ensues. 

Take heed, also, that thou be not extreme 

In playing with the outside of my dream ; 

Nor let my figure or similitude 

Put thee into a laughter, or a feud. 

Leave this for boys and fools ; but as for thee, 

Do thou the substance of my matter see. 

Put by the curtains, look within the veil, 

Turn up my metaphors, and do not fail. 

There, if thou seekest them, such things thou'lt fine 

As will be helpful to an honest mind. 

What of my dross thou findest there, be bold 

To throw away, but yet preserve the gold. 

What if my gold be wrapped up in ore ? 

None throw away the apple for the core : 

But if thou shalt cast all away as vam, 

I know not but 'twill make me dream again. 



THE 

AUTHOR'S WAY 

OF 

SPENDING FORTH HIS SECOND PART 

OP 

THE PILGRIM. 



Go, now, my little Book, to every place 
Where my first pilgrim has but shown his face*. 
Call at their door : if any say, " Who's there?** 
Then answer thou, " Christiana is here." 
If they bid thee come in, then enter thou. 
With all thy boys ; and then, as thou know'st bow. 
Tell who they are, also from whence they came ; 
Perhaps they'll know them by their looks, or name; 
But if they should not, ask them yet again, 
If formerly they did not entertain 
One Christian, a Pilgrim. If they say 
They did, and were delighted in his way ; 
Then let them know that these related were 
Unto him ; yea, his wife and children are. 

Tell them that they have left their house and homei 
Are turned Pilgrims ; seek a world to come ; 
That they have met with hardships in the way ; 
That they do meet with troubles night and day ; 



g5o ^^-^ PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 

That tliey have trod on serpents ; fought with devdsi 

Have also overcome a many evils : 

Yea, tell them also of the next who have, 

Of love of pilgrimage, been stout and brave 

Defenders of that w^aj ; and how they still 

Refuse this world to do their Father's will. 

Go tell them also of those dainty things 

That Pilgrimage unto the Pilgrim brings. 

Let them acquainted be, too, how they are 

Beloved of their King, under his care ; 

What goodly mansions He for them provides ; 

Though they meet with rough winds and swellirj^tiaes 

How brave a calm they will enjoy at last, 

Who to their Lord, and by His ways hold fast. 

Perhaps with heart and hand they will embrace 
Thee, as they did my firstling ; and will grace 
Thee and thy fellows with such cheer and fare. 
As show well they of Pilgrims lovers are. 

FIRST OBJECTION. 

But how if they v/ill not believe of me 
That I am truly thme ? 'Cause some there be 
That counterfeit the Pilgi'im and his name ; 
Seek, by disguise, to seem the very same ; 
And by that means have wrought themselves into 
The hands and houses of I know not who. 

ANSWER. 

'Tis true, some have, of late, to counterfeit 
My Pilgrim, to their own my title set ; 
Yea, others half my name, and title too. 
Have stitched to their books, to make them do. 
But yet they, by their features, do declare 
Themselves not mine to be, whose e'er they are. 

If such thou meet'st with, then thine only wa^ 
Before them all, is, to say out thy say 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, %^\ 

In tMne own native language, which no man 
Kow useth, nor with ease dissemble can. 

If, after all, they still of you shall doubt. 
Thinking that you, like gypsies, go about, 
In naughty wise the country to defile ; 
Or that you seek good people to beguile 
With things unwarrantable, send for me 
And I will testify you Pilgrims be ; 
Yea, I will testify that only you 
My Pilgrims are, and that alone will do. 

SECOND OBJECTION. 

But yet, perhaps I may inquire for him 
Of those who wish him damned life and limb. 
What shall I do, when I at such a door 
For Pilgrims ask, and they shall rage the moref 

ANSWER. 

Fright not thyself, my Book, for such bugbeara 
Are nothing else but ground for groundless fears. 
My Pilgrim's book has travelled sea and land. 
Yet could I never come to understand 
That it was slighted or turned out of door 
By any kingdom, were they rich or poor. 

In France and Flanders, where men kill each other. 
My Pilgrim is esteemed a friend, a brother. 
In Holland, too, 'tis said, as I am told, 
My Pilgrim is with some worth more than gold, 
Highlanders and wild Irish can agree 
My Pilgrim should familiar with them be, 

'Tis in New England under such advance, 
Re^^ives there so much loving countenance, 
As to be trimm'd, new cloth'd, and deck'd with gemii 
That it might show its features, and its limbs. 
Yet more : so comely doth my Pilgrim walk. 
That of him thousands daily sing and talk. 



i62 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

If you draw nearer home, it will appear 
My Pilgrim knows no ground of shame or fear : 
City and country will him entertain 
With Welcome, Pilgrim ; yea, they can't refrain 
From smiling, if my Pilgrim be but by, 
Or shows his head in any company. 

Brave gallants, do my Pilgrim hug and love^ 
Esteem it much, yea, value it above 
Things of a greater bulk ; yea, with delight 
Say my lark's leg is better than a kite. 
Young ladies, and young gentlewo.men too. 
Do not small kindness to my Pilgrim show : 
Their cabinets, their bosoms, and their hearts^ 
My Pilgrim has ; 'cause he to them imparts 
His pretty riddles in such wholesome strains 
As yield them profit double to their pains 
Of reading ; yea, I think I may be bold 
To say some prize him far above their gold. 
The very children that do walk the street, 
If they do but my holy Pilgrim meet, 
Salute him well ; will wish him well, and sajr 
He is the only stripling of the day. 

They that have never seen him, yet admire 
What they have heard of him, and much desire 
To have his company, and hear him tell 
Those Pilgrim stories which he knows so well. 

Yea, some who did not love him at the first. 
But caird him fool and noddy, say they must, 
Kow they have seen and heard him, him commend, 
And to those whom they love they do him send. 

Wherefore, my Second Part, thou need'st not be 
Afraid to show thy head : none can hurt thee, 
That wish but well to him that went before ; 
'Cause tbou com'st after with a seccnd store 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ,63 

Of things as good, as rich, as profitable. 

For young, for old, for staggering, and for stable. 

THIRD OBJECTION, 

But some there be that say, he laughs too loud; 
And some do say, his head is in a cloud. 
Some say, his words and stories are so dark, 
They know not bow, by them, to find his mark, 

ANSWER. 

One may, I think, say, Both his laughs and crieir 
May well be guessed at by his wat'ry eyes. 
Some things are of that nature, as to make 
One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache. 
When Jacob saw his Rachel with the sheep, 
He did at the same time both kiss and weep. 

Whereas some say, A cloud is in his head ; 
That doth but show his wisdom's covered 
With its own mantle. And to stir the mind 
To search well after what it fain would find. 
Things that seem to be hid in words obscure 
Do but the godly mind the more allure 
To study what those sayings should contain. 
That speak to us in such a cloudy strain, 
I also know a dark similitude 
Will on the fancy more itself intrude, 
And will stick faster in the heart and head, 
Than things from similies not borrowed. 

Wherefore, my Book, let no discouragement 
Hinder thy travels. Behold, thou art sent 
To friends, not foes ; to friends that will give place 
To thee, thy Pilgrims, and thy words embrace. 

Besides, what my first Pilgrim left conceal'd. 
Thou, my brave second Pilgrim, hast reveal'd; 
What Christian left lock'd up, and went his way. 
Sweet Christiana opens with her key. 



964 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

FOURTH OBJECTION. 

But some love not the method of your first : 
Romance they count it ; throw't away as dust. 
If I should meet with such, what should I say ? 
Must I slight them as they slight me, or nay ? 

ANSWER. 

My Christiana, if with such thou meet, 
By all means, in all loving wise them greet ; 
Render them not reviling for revile ; 
But, if they frown, I prithee on them smile: 
Perhaps 'tis nature, or some ill report. 
Has made them thus despise, or thus retort. 

Some love no fish, some love no cheese, and som^ 
Love not their friends, nor their own house or home; 
Some start at pig, slight chicken, love not fowl 
More than they love a cuckoo or an owl. 
Leave such, my Christiana, to their choice. 
And seek those w^ho to find thee will rejoice. 
By no means strive, but, in most humble wise, 
Present thee to them in thy Pilgrim's guise. 

Go then, my little Book, and show to all 
That entertain and bid thee welcome shall, 
"What thou shalt keep close shut up from the rest ; 
And wish what thou shalt show them may be bless'd 
To them for good, and make them choose to be 
Pilgrims, by better far than thee or me. 
Go, then, I say, tell all men who thou art : 
Say, I am Christiana ; and my part 
Is now, with my four sons, to tell you what 
It is for men to take a Pilgrim's lot. 

Go, also, tell them who and what they be 
That now do go on a pilgrimage with thee ; 
Say, Here's my neighbor Mercy ; she is one 
That has long time with me a Pilgrim gope ?: 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS ,5- 

Come, see her in ber virgin face, and learn 
Twixt idle ones and Pilgrims to discern. 
Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize 
The world which is to come, in any wise. 
When little tripping maidens follow God, 
And leave old doting sinners to His rod, 
'Tis like those days wherein the young ones cried 
Hosannah ! to whom old ones did deride. 

Next tell them of old Honest, whom you found 
With his white hairs treading the Pilgrim's ground^ 
Yea, tell them how plain-hearted this man was ; 
How after his good Lord he bare the cross. 
Perhaps with some gray head this may prevail 
With Christ to fall in love, and sin bewail. 

Tell them, also, how Master Fearing went 
On pilgrimage, and how the time he spent 
In solitariness, with fears and cries ; 
And how, at last, he won the joyful prize. 
He was a good man, though much down in spirit^ 
He is a good man, and doth life inherit. 

Tell them of Master Feeblemind, also, 
Who not before, but still behind would go. 
Show them, also, how he had like been slain, 
And how one Greatheart did his life regain. 
This man was true of heart, though weak in grace 
One might true godliness read in his face. 

Then tell them of Master Readytohalt, 
A man with crutches, but much without fault. 
Tell them how Master Feeblemind and he 
Did love, and in opinions much agree. 
And let all know, though weakness was their chb^.^ 
Yet sometimes one could sing, the other dance. 

Forget not Master Valiant-for-the-Truth, 
That man of courage, though a very youth % 



II 66 TiY^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

Tell every one his spirit was so stout. 
No man could ever make him face about. 
And how Greatheart and he could not forbear. 
But pull down Doubting Castle, slay Despair I 

Overlook not Master Despondency, 
Nor Muchafraid, his daughter, though they lie 
Under such mantles, as may make them look 
(With some) as if their God had them forsook. 
They softly went, but sure ; and, at the end, 
Found that the Lord of Pilgrims was their friend. 

When thou hast told the world of all these things, 
Then turn about, my Book, and touch these strings, 
Which, if but touched, will such music make, 
They'll make a cripple dance, a giant quake. 

Those riddles that lie couchM within thy breast^ 
Freely propound, expound ; and for the rest 
Of thy mysterious lines, let them remain 
For those whose nimble fancies shall them gain. 

Now may this little Book a blessing be 
To those who love this little Book and me; 
And may its buyer have no cause to say 
His money is but lost or thrown away. 
Yea, may this second I'^lgrim yield that fruit 
As may with each good Pilgrim's fancy suit ; 
And may it some }»ersuade, that go astray. 
To turn their feet and heart to the right way, 
Is the hearty prayer of 

The Author, 

JOHN BUNYAN 



THB 

PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



PART a 

Courteous Companions: 

Some time since, to tell you my dream that I had 
of Christian the pilgrim, and of his dangerous journey 
towards the Celestial Country, was pleasant to me, and 
profitable to you. I told j^ou then also what I saw 
concerning his wife and ehildren, and how unwilling 
they were to go with him on pilgrimage ; insomuch that 
he was forced to go on his progress without them ; for 
he durst not run the danger of that destruction which 
he feared would come by staying with them in the city 
of Destruction. Wherefore, as I then showed you, he 
left them and departed. 

Now it hath so happened, through the multiplicity 
of business, that I have been much hindered and kept 
back from my wonted travels into those parts whence 
he went, and so could not, till now, obtain an opportu- 
nit}'" to make further inquiry after those whom he left 
behind, that I might give you an account of them. But 
hiving had some concerns that way of late, I went 
down again thitherward. Now, having taken up my 
lodging in a w^ood about a mile off the place, as I slept, 
T dreamed again, een 



,68 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

And as I was in my dream, behold, an aged gentle* 
man came bj where I lay ; and, because he was to go 
some part of the way that I was traveling, methought 
I got up and went with him. So, as we walked, and 
as travellers usually do, I was as if we fell into a dis- 
course ; and our talk happened to be about Christian 
and his travels ; for thus I began with the old man :^ 

Sir, said I, what town is that there below, that lieth 
on the left hand of our way? 

Then said Mr. Sagacity (for that was his name), It is 
the city of Destruction, a populous place, but possessed 
with a very ill-conditioned and idle set of people. 

I thought that was the city, quoth I ; I went once 
myself through that town, and therefore know that this 
report you give of it is true. 

Sag. Too true ! I wish I could speak truth in 
speaking better of them that dwell therein. 

Well, sir, quoth I, then I perceive you to be a well- 
meaning man, and so one that takes pleasure to hear 
and tell of that which is good. Pray, did you never 
hear what happened to a man some time ago of this 
town (whose name was Christian), that went on a 
pilgrimage up towards the higher regions ? 

Sag. Hear of him! Ay, and I also heard of the 
molestations, troubles, wars, captivities, cries, groans, 
frights and fears that he met with and had on his jour- 
ney. Besides, I must tell you, all our country rings of 
him ; there are but few houses that have heard of him 
and of his doings, but have sought after and got the 
records of his pilgrimage ; yea, I think I may say that 
his hazardous journey has got many well-wishers to his 
ways ; for, though when he was here he was fool in 
every man's mouth, yet now he is gone he is highly 
commended of all. For 'tis said he lives bravely where 
he is : yea, many of them that are resolved never to 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 269 

run his hazards, yet have their mouths water at his 
gains. 

They may, quoth I, well think, if they think any 
thing that is true, that he liveth well where he is ; for 
he now lives at, and in the fountain of life, and has 
what he has without labor and sorrow, for there is no 
grief mixed therewith. But pray, what talk have the 
people about him ? 

Sag. Talk! The people talk strangely about him. 
Some say that he now walks in white (Rev. 3:4); that 
he has a chain of gold about his neck ; that he has a 
crown of gold, beset with pearls, upon his head. Others 
say, that the shining ones, who sometimes showed them- 
selves to him in his journ633% are become his compan- 
ions, and that he is as familiar with them where he is, 
as here one neighbor is with another. Besides, it is 
confidently affirmed concerning him, that the King of 
the place where he is, has bestowed upon him already 
a very rich and pleasant dwelling at court ; and that 
he every day eateth and drinketh, and walketh and 
talketh with Him, and receiveth of the smiles and 
favors of Him chat is Judge of all there. (Zech. 3:7; 
Luke 14 : 14, 15.) Moreover, it is expected of some, 
that his Prince, the Lord of that country, will shortly 
come into these parts, and will know the reason, if they 
can give any, why his neighbors set so little by him, 
and had him so much in derision, when they perceived 
that he would be a pilgrim. (Jude, 14, 15.) For they 
say, that now he is so in the affections of his Prince, 
that his Sovereign is so much concerned with the in- 
dignities that were cast upon Christian when he became 
a pilgrim, that he will look upon all as if done unto 
Himself (Luke 10 1 16) $ and no marvel, for it was for 
the love that he had to his Prince that he ventured as 
he did 



ayo Y^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

I dare say, quoth I ; I am glad on't : I am glad for 
^e poor man's sake, for that now he has rest from his 
labor, and for that he now reapeth the benefit of his 
tears with joy ; and for that he has got beyond the gun- 
shot of his enemies, and is out of the reach of them 
that hate him. (Rev. 14: 13; Psalm 126: 5, 6.) I 
also am glad for that a rumor of these things is noised 
abroad in this country ; who can tell but that it may 
work some good effect on some that are left behind ? 
But pray, sir, while it is fresh in my mind, do you hear 
anything of his wife and children? Poor hearts! I 
wonder in my mind what they do. 

Sag. Who? Christiana and her sons? They are 
like to do as well as Christian did himself; for though 
they all played the fool at first, and would by no means 
be persuaded by either the tears or entreaties of Chris- 
tian, yet second thoughts have wrought wonderfully 
with them: so they have packed up, and are also gone 
after him. 

Better and better, quoth I : but, what I wife and 
children, and all ? 

Sag. It is true : I can give you an account of the 
matter, for I was upon the spot at the instant, and was 
thoroughly acquainted with the whole affair. 

Then, said I, a man, it seems, may report it for a 
truth. 

Sag. You need not fear to afiirm it : I mean, that 
they are all gone on pilgrimage, both the good woman 
and her four boys. And being we are, as I perceive, 
going some considerable way together, I will give you 
an account of the whole matter. 

This Christiana (for that was her name from the 
day that she with her children betook themselves to a 
pilgrim's life), after her husband was gone over the 
mer, and she could hear of him no more, her thoughts 



THE PILGRIM'S PRO^k^^S, 274 

began to work in her mind. First, fcr that she had lost 
her husband, and for that the loving bond of that rela- 
tion was utterly broken betwixt them. For you know, 
said he to me, nature can do no lesii but entertain the 
living with many a heavy cogitation, in the remem- 
brance of the loss of loving relations. This, therefore, 
of her husband did cost her many a tear. But this was 
not all ; for Christiana did also be^'in to consider with 
herself, whether her unbecoming behavior towards her 
husband was not one cause that she saw him no more, 
and that in such sort he was U^ken away from her. 
And upon this came into her mind, by swarms, all her 
unkind, unnatural, and ungodly carriage to her dear 
friend; which also clogged her conscience, and did 
load her with guilt. She was, v moreover, much broken 
with recalling to remembrance the restless groans, 
brinish tears, and self-bemoanings of her husband, and 
how she did harden her heart against all his entreaties 
and loving persuasions of her and her sons to go with 
him; yea, there was not anytLmg that Christian either 
said to her, or did before her, all the while that his 
burden did hang on his back, but it returned upon her 
like a flash of lightning, and rent the caul of her heart 
in sunder ; especially that bitter outcry of his, " What 
shall I do to be saved ?" did ring in her ears most dole- 
fully. 

Then said she to her children, Sons, we are all un- 
done. I have sinned away your father, and he is gone: 
he would have had us with him, but I would not go 
myself; I also have hindered you of life. With that 
the boys fell into tears, and cried out to go after their 
father. Oh, said Christiana, that it had been but our lot 
to go with him ! then had it fared well with us, beyond 
what it is like to do now. For, though I formerly 
foolishly imagined, concerning the troubles of your 



272 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

father, that they proceeded of a foolish fancy that he 
had, or for that he was overrun with melancholy hu- 
mors ; yet now it will not out of mind, but that they 
sprang from another cause ; to wit, for that the light 
of life was given him (James 1 : 23-25 ; John 8:12); 
by the help of which, as I perceive, he has escaped the 
snares of death. (Prov. 14 : 2T.) Then they all wept 
again, and cried out. Oh, woe worth the dav ! 

The next night Christiana had a dream ; and, be- 
hold, she saw as if a broad parchment was opened be- 
fore her, in which were recorded the sum of her ways ; 
and the crimes, as she thought, looked very black upon 
her. Then she cried out aloud in her sleep, " Lord, 
have mercy upon me a sinner 1*' (Luke 18: 12) ; and 
the little children heard her. 

After this she thought she saw two very ill favored 
ones standing by her bedside, and saying. What shall 
we do with this woman ? for she cries out for mercy, 
waking and sleepinpf \ if she be suffered to go on as she 
begins, we shall lose lier as we have lost her husband. 
Wherefore we must, by one way or other, seek to take 
her ofP from the thoughts of what shall be hereafter, else 
all the world cannot help but she will become a pil- 
grim. 

Now she awoke in a great sweat, also a trembling 
was upon her : but after a while she fell to sleeping 
again. And then she thought she saw Christian, her 
husband, in a place of bliss among many immortals, with 
a harp in his hand, standing and playing upon it before 
One that sat on a throne with a rainbow about His 
head. She saw also, as if he bowed his head with his 
face to the paved work that was under his Prince's 
feet, saying, " I heartily thank my Lord and King for 
bringing me into this place." Then shouted a com- 
j^any of them that stood round about, and harped 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 273 

with their harps , but no man living could tell what 
they said but Christian and his companions. 

Next morning, when she was up, had prayed to God, 
and talked with her children a while, one knocked hard 
at the door ; to whom she spake out, saying, " If thou 
comest in God's name, come in." So he said, ^^Amen ;'* 
and opened the door, and saluted her with, " Peace be 
to this house." The which when he had done, he said, 
*' Christiana, knowest thou wherefore I am come?" 
Then she blushed and trembled ; also her heart began 
to wax warm with desires to know from whence he 
came, and what was his errand to her. So he said unto 
her, " My name is Secret ; I dwell with those that are 
on hio-h. It is talked of Avhere I dwell as if thou hadst 
a desire to go thither : also, there is a report that thou 
art aware of the evil thou hast formerly done to thy 
husband, in hardening of thy heart against his ways, 
and in keeping of these babes in their ignorance. 
Christiana, the Merciful One hath sent me to tell thee, 
that he is a God ready to forgive, and that He taketh 
delight to multiply the pardon of offences. He also 
would have thee to know, that He inviteth thee to come 
into His presence, to His table, and that He will feed 
thee with the fat of His house, and with the heritage 
of Jacob thy father. 

" There is Christian, thy husband that was, with 
legions more, his companions, ever beholding that face 
that doth minister life to beholders ; and they will all 
be glad when they shall hear the sound of thy feet step 
over thy Father's threshold." 

Christiana at this was greatly abashed in herself, 
and bowed her head to the ground. This visitor pro* 
ceeded, and said, " Christiana, here is also a letter for 
thee, which I have brought from thy husband's King." 
So she took it, and opened it, but it smelt after the 



f 74 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

manlier of the best perfume. (Song 1 : 3.) Also, it 
was written in letters of gold. The contents of the 
letter were these, That the King would have her to do 
as did Christian her husband ; for that was the waj to 
come to His city, and to dwell in His presence with joy 
forever. At this the good woman was quite overcome ; 
so she cried out to her visitor, Sir, will you carry me 
and my children with you, that we also may go and 
worship the King ? 

Then said the visitor, Christiana, the bitter is be*- 
fore the sweet. Thou must through troubles, as did 
he that went before thee, enter this Celestial City. 
"Wherefore I advise thee to do as did Christian thy 
husband : go to the wicket-gate yonder, over the plain, 
for that stands at the head of the way up which thou 
must go ; and I wish thee all good speed. Also I ad- 
vise that thou put this letter in thy bosom, that thou 
read therein to thyself and to thy children until you 
have got it by heart ; for it is one of the songs thai 
thou must sing while thou art in this house of thy pil- 
grimage (Psalm 119 : 54) ; also this thou must delivp* 
in at the farther gate. 

Now I saw, in my dream, that this old gentlemar, 
as he told me the story, did himself seem to be greatly 
affected therewith. He moreover proceeded, and said. 
So Christiana called her sons together, and began thus 
to address herself unto them : " My sons, I have, as you 
may perceive, been of late under much exercise in my 
soul about the death of your father: not for that I 
doubt at all of his happiness, for I am satisfied now that 
he is well, I have also been much affected with the 
thoughts of my own state and yours, which I verily be- 
lieve is by nature miserable. My carriage also to your 
father in his distress is a great load to my conscience; 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 275 

for I hardened both mine own heart and yours against 
him, and refused to go with him on pilgrimage. 

The thoughts of these things would now kill me 
outright, but that for a dream which I had last night, 
and but that for the encouragement which this stranger 
has given me this morning. Come, my children, let us 
pack up, and be gone to the gate that leads to the 
Celestial Country, that we may see your father, and be 
with him and his companions in peace, according to the 
laws of that land. 

Then did her children burst out into tears, for joy 
that the heart of their mother was so inclined. So 
their visitor bid them farewell ; and they began to pre- 
pare to set out for their journey. 

But while they were thus about to be gone, two of 
the women that were Christiana's neighbors came up 
to her house, and knocked at her door. To whom she 
said, as before. If you come in God's name, come in. 
At this the woman were stunned : for this kind of lan- 
guage they used not to hear, or to perceive to drop from 
the lips of Christiana. Yet they came in : but behold, 
they found the good woman preparing to be gone from 
her house. 

So they began, and said. Neighbor, pray what is 
your meaning by this ? 

Christiana answered, and said to the eldest of them, 
whose name was Mrs. Timorous, I am preparing for a 
journey. 

This Timorous was daughter to him that met Chris- 
tian upon the hill of DifBculty, and would have had 
him go back for fear of the lions. 

Tim. For what journey, I pray you ? 

Chr. Even to go after my good husband. And 
Urith that she fell a-weeping. 

Tim. I hope not so. good neifirhbor ; pray, for your 



g*5 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

poor children's sake, do not so unwomanly cast away 
yourself. 

Chr. Nay, my children shall go with me ; not one 
of them is willing to stay behind. 

Tim. I wonder in my very heart what or who has 
brought you into this mind ! 

Chr. Oh, neighbor, knew you but as much as I do, 
I doubt not but that you would go along with me. 

Tim. Prithee, what new knowledge hast thou got, 
that so worketh off thy mind from thy friends, and that 
tempteth thee to go nobody knows where ? 

Chr. Then Christiana replied, I have been sorely 
afflicted since my husband's departure from me ; but 
especially since he went over the river. But that which 
troubleth me most is, my churlish carriage to him when 
he was under his distress. Besides, I am now as he was 
then ; nothing will serve me but going on pilgrimage. 
I was dreaming last night that I saw him. Oh, that 
my soul was with him ! He dwelleth in the presence 
of the King of the country ; he sits and eats with Him 
at His table ; he is become a companion of immortals, 
and has a house now given him to dwell in, to which 
the best palace on earth, if compared, seems to me but 
as a dunghill. (2 Cor. 5 : 1-4.) The Prince of the 
place has also sent for me, with promise of entertain- 
ment, if I shall come to Him ; His messenger was here 
even now, and has brought me a letter, which invites 
me to come. And with that she plucked out her letter, 
and read it, and said to them. What now will you say 
to this ? 

Tim. Oh, the madness that has possessed thee and 
thy husband, to run yourselves upon such difficulties ! 
You have heard, I am sure, w^hat your husband did 
meet with, even in a manner at the first step that he 
took on his way, as our neighbor 'Obstinate can yet tea* 



THE PILGRIM* S PROGRESS 277 

tify, for he went along with him ; yea, and Pliable, too, 
until they, like wise men, were afraid to go any farther. 
We also heard, over and above, how he met with the 
lions, Apollyon, the Shadow of Death, and many other 
things. Nor is the danger that he met with at Vanity 
Fair to be forgotten by thee. For if he, though a man, 
was so hard put to it, what canst thou, being but a poor 
woman, do? Consider also, that these four sweet babes 
are thy children, thy flesh and thy bones. Wherefore, 
though thou shouldst be so rash as to cast away thy- 
self, yet, for the sake of the fruit of thy body, keep 
thou at home. 

But Christiana said unto her. Tempt me not, my 
neighbor : I have now a price put into my hands to 
get gain, and I should be a fool of the greatest size if I 
should have no heart to strike in with the opportunity. 
And fcr that you tell me of all these troubles which I 
am like to meet with in the way, they are so far from 
being to me a discouragement, that they show I am in 
the right. The bitter must come before the sweet, and 
that also will make the sweet the sweeter. Wherefore, 
since you came not to my house in God's name, as I 
said, I pray you to be gone, and not to disquiet me 
further. 

Then Timorous reviled her, and said to her fellow. 
Come, neighbor Mercy, let us leave her in her own 
hands, since she scorns our counsel and company. But 
Mercy was at a stand, and could not so readily comply 
with her neighbor j and that for a twofold reason. 1. 
Her bowels yearned over Christiana. So she said, 
within herself, If my neighbor will needs be gone, I will 
go a little way with her, and help her. 2. Her bowels 
yearned over her own soul ; for what Christiana had 
said had taken some hold upon her mind. Wherefore 
she said, within herself again, I will yet have more talk 



2jS THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

with this Christiana , and, if I find truth and life in 
what she shall say, I myself with my heart shall also 
go with her. Wherefore Mercy began thus to reply to 
her neighbor Timorous : — 

Mer. Neighbor, I did indeed come with you to see 
Christiana this morning ; and since she is, as you see, 
taking her last farewell of her country, I think to walk 
this sunshiny morning a little with her, to help her on 
her way. But she told her not of her second reason, 
but kept it to herself. 

Tim. Well, I see you have a mind to go a-fooling too. 
but take heed in time, and be wise ; while we are out 
of danger, we are out ; but when we are in, we are in* 

So Mrs. Timorous returned to her house, and Chris- 
tiana betook herself to her journey. But when Timor- 
ous was got home to her house she sends for some of 
her neighbors, to wit, Mrs. Batseyes, Mrs. Inconsiderate, 
Mrs. Lightmind, and Mrs. Knownothing. So when 
they were come to her house, she falls to telling of the 
story of Christiana, and of her intended journey. And 
thus she began her tale : — 

Tim. Neighbors, having had little to do this morning, 
I went to give Christiana a visit ; and when I came at 
the door I knocked, as you know it is our custom ; and 
she answered. If you come in God's name, come in. So 
in I went, thinking all was well ; but, when I came in, 
I found her preparing herself to depart the town, she, 
and also her children. So I asked her what was hei 
meaning by that. And she told me, in short, that she 
was now of a mind to go on pilgrimage, as did her hus- 
band. She told me also of a dream that she had, and 
how the King of the country where her husband was, 
had sent her an inviting letter to come thither. 

Then said Mrs. K'^ownothing, And what, do yow 
think she will go? 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 279 

Tim. Aye, go she will, whatever comes on't ; and 
ifto Jiinks I know it by this ; for that which was my 
^reat argument to persuade her to stay at home (to wit, 
the trv">ubles she was like to meet with on the way), is 
one great argument with her to put her forward on her 
journey. For she told me in so many words, The bitter 
goes befo.'e the sweet ; yea, and forasmuch as it so doth, 
it makes the sweet the sweeter. 

Mrs. Batseyes. Oh, this blind and foolish woman ! 
said she ; and will she not take warning by her hus- 
band's afilict'ons ? For my part, I see, if he were here 
ag-ain, he wotld rest himself content in a whole skin, 
and never run .so many hazards for nothing. 

Mrs. Inconsiderate also replied, saying. Away with 
such fantastical fools from the town : a good riddance, 
for my part, 1 say, of her ; should she stay where she 
dwells, and retain this her mind, who could live quietly 
by her? for she will either be dumpish, or unneighboriy, 
or talk of such matters as no wise body can abide. 
Wherefore, for my part, I shall never be sorry for her 
departure ; let her go, and let better come in her room ; 
it was never a good world since these whimsical fools 
dwelt in it. 

Then Mrs. Lightmind added as followeth : Come, 
put this kind of talk away. I was yesterda}^ at Madam 
Wanton's, where we were as merry as the maids. For 
who do you think should be there but land Mrs.Love- 
iheflesh, and three or four more, with Mrs. Lechery, 
Mrs. Filth, and some others : so there we had music and 
dancing, and what else was meet to fill up the pleasure. 
And I dare say, my lady herself is an admirably well- 
bred gentlewoman, and Mr. Lechery is as pretty 8 
felloxv 



ft^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



THE FIRST STAGE 



By this time Christiana was got on her way, ane* 
Mercy went along with her : so as they went, her chil- 
dren being there also, Christiana began to discourse. 
And, Mercy, said Christiana, I take this as an unex- 
pected favor, that thou shouldst set forth out of doors 
with me to accompany me a little in my way. 

Mer. Then said young Mercy (for she was but 
young). If I thought it would be to purpose to go with 
you, I would never go near the town any more. 

Chr. Well, Mercy, said Christiana, cast in thy loi 
with me : I well know what will be the end of our 
pilgrimage : my husband is where he would not but be 
for all the gold in the Spanish mines. Nor slialt thou 
be rejected, though thou goest but upon my invitation. 
The King, who hath sent for me and my children, is 
one that delighteth in mercy. Besides, if thou wilt, I 
will hire thee, and thou shalt go along with me as my 
servant. Yet we will have all things in common be- 
twixt thee and me : only go along with me. 

Mer. But how shall I be ascertained that I also 
should be entertained ? Had I this hope but from one 
that can tell, I would make no stick at all, but would 
go, being helped by Him that can help, though the way 
was never so tedious. 

Chr. Well, loving Mercy, I will tell thee what thou 
shalt do : go with me to the wicket-gate, and there I 
will further inquire for thee ; and if there thou shalt 
not meet with encouragement, I will be content that 
thou return to thy place : I will also pay thee for thy 
kindness which thou showest to me and my children, 
ia the accompanying of us in the way that thou dost. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS^ 281 

Mer. Then will I go thither, and will take what 
shall follow; and the Lord grant that my lot may there 
fall, even as the King of Heaven shall have his heart 
upon me. 

Christiana then was glad at heart, not only that she 
had a companion, but also for that she had prevailed 
with this poor maid to fall in love with her own salva- 
tion. So they went on together, and Mercy began to 
weep. Then said Christiana, Wherefore weepeth m^ 
sister so ? 

Mer. Alas ! said she, who can but lament, that shall 
but rightly consider what a state and condition my poor 
relations are in, that yet remain in our sinful town ? 
And that which makes my grief the more heavy is, be- 
cause they have no instructor, nor any to tell them what 
is to come. 

Chr. Pity becomes pilgrims ; and thou dost weep 
for thy friends, as my good Christian did for me when 
he left me : he mourned for that I would not heed nor 
regard him ; but his Lord and ours did gather up his 
tears, and put them into His bottle ; and now both I 
and thou, and these my sweet babes, are reaping the 
fruit and benefit of them. I hope, Mercy, that these 
tears of thine will not be lost ; for the Truth hath said, 
that " they that sow in tears shall reap in joy.'* And, 
"he that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious 
seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing 
his sheaves with him." (Psalm 126 : 5, 6.^ 

Then said Mercy,— 

** Let the Most Blessed be my guide. 
If it be His blessed will, 
Unto His gate, into His fold, 
Up to His holy hill. 

^''And let Him never suffer me 
To swerve, or turn aside' 



28a f^^E PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

From His free grace and holy ways, 
Whate'er shall me betide. 
••And let Him gather them of mine 
That I have left behind; 
Lord, make them pray thej' may be Thtne, 
With all their heart and mind." 

Now my old friend proceeded, and said, But when 
Christiana came to the Slough of Despond, she began 
to be at a stand; For, said she, this is the place in which 
my dear husband had like to have been smothered with 
mud. She perceived, also, that notwithstanding the 
command of the King to make this place for pilgrims 
good, yet it was rather worse than formerly. So I asked 
if that was true. Yes, said the old gentleman, too true; 
for many there be that pretend to be the King's labor- 
ers, and that say they are for mending the King's high- 
ways, who bring dirt and dung instead of stones, and 
so mar instead of mending. Here Christiana therefore, 
with her boys, did make a stand. But, said Mercy, 
come, let us venture ; only let us be wary. Then they 
looked well to their steps, and made a shift to get stag- 
gering over. 

Yet Christiana had like to have been in, and that 
not once or twice. Now they had no sooner got over, 
but they thought they heard words that said unto them, 
" Blessed is she that believeth ; for there shall be a 
performance of those things which were told her from 
the Lord." (Luke 1 : 45.) 

Then they went on again ; and said Mercy to Chris- 
tiana, Had I as good ground to hope for a loving recep- 
tion at the wicket-gate as you, I think no Slough of 
.Despond would discourage me. 

Well, said the other, you know your sore, and I 
know mine ; and, good friend, we shall all have enough 
evil before we come to our journey's end. For caa li 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 28, 

be imagined that the people who design to attain such 
excellent glories as we do, and who are so envied that 
happiness as we are, but that we shall meet with what 
fears and snares, with what troubles and afflictions, 
they can possibly assault us with that hate us? 

And now Mr. Sagacity left me to dream out my 
dream by myself. Wherefore, methought I saw Chris- 
tiana and Mercy, and the boys, go all of them up to the 
gate: to which, when they were come, they betook 
themselves to a short debate about how they must man- 
age their calling at the gate, and what should be said 
unto him that did open unto them. So it was concluded, 
since Christiana was the eldest, that she should knock 
for entrance, and that she should speak to him that did 
open, for the rest. So Christiana began to knock, and, 
as her poor husband did, she knocked and knocked 
again. But instead of any that answered, they all 
thought they heard as if a dog came barking upon them ; 
a dog, and a great one too ; and this made the women 
and children afraid. Nor durst they for a while to 
knock any more, for fear the mastiff should fly upon 
them. Now, therefore, they were greatly tumbled up 
and down in their minds, and knew not what to do : 
knock they durst not for fear of the dog ; go back they 
durst not, for fear the keeper of the gate should espy 
them as they so went, and should be offended with 
them ; at last they thought of knocking again, and 
knocked more vehemently than they did at first. Theu 
said the keeper of the gate, Who is there? So the dog 
left off to bark, and he opened unto them. 

Then Christiana made low obeisance, and said. Let 
not our Lord be offended with his handmaidens, for that 
we have knocked at his princely gate. Then said the 
keeper. Whence come ye ? and what is it that ye would 
have ? 



gg^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Christiana answered, We are come from whence 
Christian did come, and upon the same errand as, he •, 
to wit, to be, if it shall please you, graciously admitted 
by this gate into the way that leads unto the Celestial 
City. And I answer, my Lord, in the next place, that 
I am Christiana, once the wife of Christian, that now is 
gotten above. 

With that the keeper of the gate did marvel, saying, 
What, is she now become a pilgrim that but a while ago 
abhorred that life ? Then she bowed her head, and said, 
Yea ; and so are these my sweet babes, also. 

Then he took her by the hand and led her in, and 
eaid also. Suffer little children to come unto me ; and 
with that he shut up the gate. This done, he called 
to a trumpeter that was above, over the gate, to enter- 
tain Christiana with shouting and sound of trumpet for 
joy. So he obeyed, and sounded, and filled the air 
with his melodious notes. 

Now all this while poor Mercy did stand without, 
trembling and crying, for fear that she was rejected, 
But when Christiana had got admittance for herself and 
her boys, then she began to make intercession for Mercy. 

And she said. My Lord, I have a companion that 
stands yet without, that is come hither upon the same 
account as myself: one that is much dejected in her 
mind, lor that she comes, as she thinks, wirhout send- 
ing for ; whereas I was sent for by my husband's King 
to come. 

Now Mercy began to be very impatient, and each 
minute was as long to her as an hour ; wherefore she 
prevented Christiana from a fuller interceding for her, 
by knocking at the gate herself. And she knocked then 
so loud that she made Christiana to start. Then said 
the keeper of the gate, Who is there ? And Christiana 
eaid. It is my friend. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESi, -^8$ 

So be opened the gate and looked oiic, hJti Mercy 
was fallen down without in a swoon, for she faiated, 
and was afraid that no gate should be opened to her. 

Then he took her by the hand and said, Damsel, ^ 
bid thee arise. 

Oh, sir, said she, I am faint ; there is scarce life left 
in me. But he answered that one once said, " When 
my soul fainted within me I remembered the Lord : and 
my prayer came unto thee, into thy holy temple." 
(Jonah 2 ; 7.) Fear not, but stand upon thy feet, and 
tell me wherefore thou art come. 

Mer. I am come from that unto which I was never 
invited, as my friend Christiana was. Hers was from 
the King, and mine was but from her. Wherefore I 
fear I presume. 

Keep. Did she desire thee to come with her to this 
place ? 

Mer. Yes ; and as my Lord sees, I am come. And 
if there is any grace and forgiveness of sins to spare, 
I beseech that thy poor handmaid may be a partaker 
thereof. 

Then he took her again by the hand, and led her 
gently in, and said, I pray for all them that believe on 
me, by what means soever they come unto me. Then 
said he to those that stood by. Fetch something and give 
it to Mercy to smell on, thereby to stay her faintings ; 
so they fetched her a bundle of myrrh, and a while after 
she was revived. 

And now were Christiana and her boys, and Mercy 
received of the Lord at the head of the way, and 
spoken kindly unto by him. Then said they yet further 
unto liim, We are sorry for our sins, and beg of our 
Lord Ills pardon, and furth<ir information what we 
must di>. 

I grant pardon, said he, by word and deed : by word^ 



'n ^JdKft promise of forgiveness ; by deed, in the ^i ay " 
siQ^tftmed it. Take the first from my lips with a k;sg^ 
and the other as it shall be revealed. (Song 1:2; John 
20 : 20.) 

Now I saw, in my dream, that he spake many good 
words unto them, whereby they were greatly glad- 
dened. He also had them up to the top of the gate, 
and showed them by what deed they were saved ; and 
told them withal that that sight they would have again 
as they went along in the way, to their comfort. 

So he left them a while in a summer parlor below, 
where they entered into talk by themselves ; and thus 
Christiana began :— 

Chr. Oh, how glad am I that we are got in hither 

Mer. So you well may ; but I, of all, have cause to 
leap for joy. 

Chr. I thought one thne, as I stood at the gate, 
because I had knocked and none did answer, that aU 
our labor had been lost ; especially when that ugly cuj 
made such a heavy barking against us. 

Mer. But my worst fear was after I saw that yoi* 
was taken into his favor, and that I was left behind 
Now, thought I, it is fulfilled which is written, " Two 
women shall be grinding at the mill ; the one shall be 
taken, and the other left. (Matt. 24 : 41.) I had much 
ado to forbear crying out. Undone ! And afraid I was 
to knock any more ; but when I looked up to what was 
written over the gate, I took courage. I also thought 
that I must either knock again, or die ; so I knocked, 
but I cannot tell how, for my spirit now struggled 
between life and death. 

Chr. Can you not tell how you knocked ? I am 
sure your knocks were so very earnest that the sound 
of them made me start ; I thought I never heard such 
knocking in all my life ; I thought you would come in 
by a violent hand, or take tke Jwiigdom b}^ storm. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 28} 

Mer. Alas ! to be in my case, who that so was could 
but have done so ? You saw that the door was shut 
upon me, and there was a most cruel dog thereabout. 
Who, I sa}^ that was so faint-hearted as I, would not 
have knocked with all their might? But pray, what 
said my Lord to my rudeness? Was he not angry 
with me ? 

Chr. When he heard your lumbering noise, he gave 
a wonderful innocent smile: I believe what you did 
pleased him well, for he showed no sign to the con- 
trary. But I marvel in my heart why he keeps such a 
dog: had I known that before, I should not have had 
heart enough to have ventured myself in this manner. 
But now we are in, we are in, and I am glad with all 
my heart. 

Mer. I will ask, if you please, next time he comes 
down, why he keeps such a filthy cur in his yard; I 
hope he will not take it amiss. 

Do so, said the children. ^\nd persuade him to hang 
him, for we are afraid he svill bite us when we go 
hence. 

So at last he came down to them again, and Mercy fell 
to the ground on her face before him, and worshipped 
and said, " Let my Lord accept the sacrifice of praise 
which I now offer unto him with the calves of my lips.'* 
So he said unto her, Peace be to thee ; stand up. 
But she continued upon her face, and said, " Right- 
eous art thou, O Lord, when I plead with thee ; yet let 
me talk with thee of thy judgments." (Jer. 12^1, 2.) 
Wherefore dost thou keep so cruel a dog in thy yard, at 
the sight of which, such women and children as we are 
Jfeady to fly from thy gate for fear ? 

He answered and said, That dog has another owner ; 
6e also is kept close in another man's ground, only my 

19 



238 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

pilgrims hear his barking ; he belongs to the castle 
which you see there at a distance, but can come up to 
the walls of this place. He has frighted many an 
honest pilgrim from worse to better, by the great voice 
of his roaring. Indeed, he that owneth him, doth not 
keep him out of any good will to me or mine ; but with 
intent to keep the pilgrims from coming to me, and that 
they mav be afraid to come and knock at this gate for 
entrance. Sometimes also he has broken out, and has 
worried some that I loved ; but I take all at present 
patiently. I also gave my pilgrims timely help, so that 
they are not delivered to his power, to do with them 
what his doggish nature would prompt him to. But 
what, my purchased one, I trow, hadst thou known 
never so much beforehand, thou wouldst not have been 
afraid of a dog. The beggars that go from door to door, 
will, rather than lose a supposed alms, run the hazard 
of the bawling, barking, and biting, too, of a dog. And 
shall a dog, a dog in another man's yard, a dog whose 
barking 1 turn to the profit of pilgrims, keep any from 
coming to me ? I deliver them from the lions, and my 
darling from the power of the dog. (Psalm 22 : 21, 22.) 
Then said Mercy, I confess my ignorance ; 1 spake 
what I understood not ; I acknowledge that thou doest 
all things well. 

Then Christiana began to talk of their journey, and 
to inquire after the way. So he fed them and washed 
their feet, and set them in the way of his steps, accord- 
ing as he had dealt with her husband before^ 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 289 



THE SECOND STAGE. 

So I saw, in my dream, that they walked on their 
way, and had the weather very comfortable to tkem. 
Then Christiana began to sing, saying, — 

*' Blessed be the day that I began 
A pilgrim for to be, 
And blessed also be the man 
That thereto moved me. 

•* 'Tis true, 'twas long ere I began 
To seek to live forever ; 
But now I run as fast as I can : 
'Tis better late than never. 

** Our tears to joy, our fears to faith, 
Are turned, as we see ; 
Thus our beginning (as one saith) 
Shows what our end will be." 

Now there was, on the other side of the wall that 
fenced in the way up which Christiana and her com- 
panions were to go, a garden, and that garden belonged 
to him whose was that barking dog, of whom mention 
was made before. And some of the fruit-trees that 
grew in that garden shot their branches over the wall ; 
and being mellow, they that found them did gathei 
them up, and eat of them to their hurt. So Christiana's 
boys, as boys are apt to do, being pleased with the 
trees, and with the fruit that hung thereon, did pluck 
them, and began to eat. Their mother did also chide 
them for so doing, but still the boys went on. 

Well, said she, my sons, you transgress, for that 
fruit is none of ours. But she did not know that it be- 
longed to the enemy ; I'll warrant you, if she had she 



f^o THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

would have been ready to die for fear. But that passed. 
and they went on their way. Now, by that they were 
gone about two bow-shots from the place that led them 
into the way, they espied two very ill-favored ones com- 
ing down apace to meet them. With that Christiana 
and Mercy, her friend, covered themselves with their 
veils, and so kept on their journey : the children also 
went on before ; so that at last they met together. 
Then they that came down to meet them, came just up 
to the women, as if they would embrace them ; but 
Christiana said, Stand back, or go peaceably, as you 
snould. Yet these two, as men that are deaf, regarded 
not Christiana's words, but began to lay hands upon 
them ; at that Christiana waxing very wroth, spurned 
at them with her feet. Mercy also, as well as she could, 
did what she could to shift them. Christiana again 
said to them, Stand back, and be gone ; for we have no 
money to lose, being pilgrims, as you see ; and such, 
ioo, as live upon the charity of our friends. 

Then said one of the two men. We make no assault 
apon you for money ; but are come out to tell you, that 
if you will but grant one small request which w e shall 
ask, we will make women of you forever. 

Now Christiana, imagining what they should mean, 
made answer again. We will neither hear, nor regard, 
nor yield to what you shall ask. We are in haste, and 
can not stay ; our business is a business of life and 
death. So again she and her companion made a fresh 
«ssay to go past them ; but they letted them in their 
i\ray. 

And they said. We intend no hurt to your lives , it 
Is another thing we would have. 

Aye, quoth Christiana, you would have us body and 
*oul, for I know it is for that you are come ; but we 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



291 



will die rather upon the spot, than to suffer ourselves 
to be brought into such snares as shall hazard our well- 
being hereafter. And with that they both shrieked out, 
and cried, Murder ! murder ! and so put themselves under 
those laws that are provided for the protection of women. 
(Deut. 22 : 25-27.) But the men still made their ap- 
proach upon them, with design to prevail against them. 
They therefore cried out again. 

Now they being, as I said, not far from the gate in 
at which they came, their voice was heard from whence 
they were, thither : wherefore some of the house came 
out, and knowing that it was Christiana's tongue, they 
made haste to her relief. But by that they were got 
within sight of them, the women were in a very great 
scuffle ; the children also stood crying by. Then did 
he that came in for their relief call out to the ruffians, 
saying. What is that thing you do ? Would you make 
my Lord's people to transgress ? He also attempted to 
take them, but they did make their escape over the wall 
into the garden of the man to whom the great dog be- 
longed ; so the dog became their protector. This Re- 
liever then came up to the women, and asked them how 
they did. So they answered, We thank thy Prince, 
pretty well ; only we have been somewhat affrighted . 
we thank thee also for that thou camest in to our help, 
otherwise we had been overcome. 

So, after a few more words, this Reliever said as fol- 
io weth : I marvelled much when you were entertained 
at the gate above, seeing ye knew that ye were but 
weak women, that you petitioned not the Lord for a 
conductor. Then might you have avoided these trou- 
bles and dangers ; for he would have granted you one. 

Alas I said Christiana, we were so taken with our 
present blessing, that dangers to oome were forgotten 
by us. Besides, who oould have thought, that so near 



2Q2 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

the King's palace there could have lurked such x\2i\ hty 
ones ? Indeed, it had been well for us had we a. ked 
our Lord for one ; but since our Lord knew it Y'ould 
be for our profit, I wonder he sent not onr along 
with us. 

Rel. It is not always necessary to grant tlu^igs not 
asked for ; lest, by so doing, they become of little es- 
teem. But when the want of a thing is felt, it then 
comes under, in the eyes of him that feels it, that esti- 
mate that properly is its due ; and so consequently will 
be thereafter used. Had my Lord granted you a con- 
ductor, you would not either so have bewailed that 
oversight of yours, in not asking for one, as now you 
have occasion to do. So all things work for good, and 
tend to make you more wary. 

Chr. Shall we go back again to my Lord, and con- 
fess our folly, and ask one ? 

Rel. Your confession of your folly I will present 
him with. To go back again, you need not ; for in all 
places where you shall come, you will find no want at 
all : for in every one of my Lord's lodgings, which he 
has prepared for the reception of his pilgrims, there is 
sufficient to furnish them against all attempts whatso- 
ever. But, as I said, he will be inquired of by them, to 
do it for them. (Ezek. 36 : 37.) And 'tis a poor thing 
that is not worth asking for. When he had thus said, 
he went back to his place, and the pilgrims went on 
their way. 

Then said Mercy, What a sudden blank is here ? I 
made account for that we had been past all danger, and 
that we should never see sorrow more. 

Thy innoceney, my sister, said Christiana to Mercy, 
may excuse the« much; but as for me, my fault is so 
much the greater, for that I saw this danger before I 
same out of the doors, and yet did not provide for it 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 293 

when provision might have been had. I am much to 
be blamed. 

Then iaid Mercy, How knew you this before you 
came from home ? Pray, open to me this riddle. 

Chr. Why, I will tell you. Before I set foot out of 
doors, one night, as I lay in my bed, t had a dream 
about this ; for methought I saw two men, as like these 
as ever any in the world could look, stand at my bed's 
feet, plotting how they might prevent my salvation. 1 
will tell you their very words. They said (it was when 
I was in my troubles). What shall we do with this 
woman ? for she cries out, waking and sleeping, for for- 
giveness : if she be suffered to go on as she begins, we 
shall lose her as we have lost her husband. This you 
know might have made me take heed, and have pro- 
vided when provision might have been had. 

Well, said Mercy, as by this neglect we have an 
occasion ministered unto us to behold our own imper- 
fections, so our Lord has taken occasion thereby to 
make manifest the riches of his grace : for he, as we see, 
has followed us Avith unasked kindness, and has deliv- 
ered us from their hands that were stronger than we, of 
his mere good pleasure. 

Thus now, when they had talked away a little more 
time, they drew near to a house which stood in the 
way ; which house was built for the relief of pilgrims, 
as you will find more fully related in the first part of 
these records of the Pilgrim's Progress. So they drew 
on towards the house (the house of the Interpreter) ; 
and when they came to the door, they heard a great 
talk in the house. Then they gave ear, and heard, as 
they thought, Christiana mentioned by name ; for you 
must know that there went along, even before her, a 
talk of her and her children's going on pilgrimage. And 
this was the more pleasing to them, because they had 



^9 4 ^^^^ ^^^ GRIM S PROGRESS, 

heard that she was Christian's wife ; that woman who 
was, some time ago, so unwilling to hear of going 
on pilgrimage. Thus, therefore, they stood still, and 
heard the good people within commending her who 
they little thought stood at the door. At last Chris- 
tiana knocked,* as she had done at the gate before. Now, 
when she had knocked, there came to the door a young 
damsel, and opened the door, and looked, and behold, 
two women were there. 

Then said the damsel to them. With whom would 
you speak in this place? 

Christiana answered. We understand that this is a 
privileged place for those that are become pilgrims, and 
we now at this door are such : wherefore we pray that 
we may be partakers of that for which we at this time 
are come : for the day, as thou seest, is very far spent, 
and we are loth to-night to go any farther. 

Dam. Pray, what may I call your name, that I may 
tell it to my Lord within. 

Chr. My name is Christiana : I was the wife of 
that pilgrim that some years ago did travel this way, 
and these be his four children. This maiden also is my 
companion, and is going on pilgrimage, too. 

Then Innocent ran in (for that was her name), and 
said to those within. Can you think who is at the door? 
There is Christiana and her children, and her com- 
panion, all waiting for entertainment here. Then they 
leaped for joy, and went and told their master. So he 
came to the door, and, looking upon her, he said, Art 
thou that Christiana whom Christian the good man left 
behind him when he betook himself to a pilgrim's life ? 

Chr. I am that woman that was so hard-hearted as 
to slight my husband's troubles, and that left him to 
go on his journey alone ; and these are his four children. 
But now I also am come ; for I am convinced that no 
way is right l>ut tJiie 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. got 

iNTER. Then is fulfilled that which is written of the 
man that said to his son, - Go work to-day in my vine- 
yard; and he said to his father, I will not: but after- 
wards repented and went." (Matt. 21 : 28, 29.) 
^ Then said Christiana, So be it : Amen. ' God make 
It a true saying upon me, and grant that I may be 
found at the last of Him in peace, without spot, and 
blameless. 

Inter. But why standest thou thus at the door*? 
Come in, thou daughter of Abraham ; we were talking 
of thee but now, for tidings have come to us before 
how thou art become a pilgrim. Come, children, come 
m ; come, maiden, come in. So he had them all into 
the house. 

So when they were within, they were bidden to sit 
down and rest them ; the which when they had done 
those that attended upon the pilgrims in the house 
came into the room to see them. And one smiled, and 
another smiled, and they all smiled for joy that Chris- 
tiana was become a pilgrim. They also looked upon 
the boys ; they stroked them over their faces with the 
hand, in token of their kind reception of them : they 
also carried it lovingly to Mercy, and bid them all wel- 
come into their master's house. 

After a while, because supper was not ready, the 
Interpreter took them into his Significant Rooms, and 
showed them what Christian, Christiana's husband, had 
seen some time before. Here, therefore, they saw the 
man m the cage, the man and his dream, the man that 
cut his way through his enemies, and the picture of the 
biggest of them all, together with the rest of those 
things that were then so profitable to Christian. 

This done, and after those things had been some- 
what digested by Christiana and her company, the 
Interpreter takes them apart again, and has them first 



296 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

into a room where was a man that could look no way 
but downwards, with a muck-rake in his hand. There 
stood also one over his head with a celestial crown in 
His hand, and proffered him that crown for his muck- 
rake ; but the man did neither look up nor regard, but 
raked to himself the straws, the small sticks and dust 
of the floor. 

Then said Christiana, I persuade myself that I know 
somewhat the meaning of this ; for this is the figure of 
a man of this world. Is it not, good sir ? 

Thou hast said right, said he ; and his muck-rake 
doth show his carnal mind. And whereas thou seest 
him rather give heed to rake up straws and sticks, and 
the dust of the floor, than to do what He says that calls 
to him from above with the celestial crown in His hand, 
it is to show that heaven is but as a fable to some, and 
that tilings here are counted the only things substan- 
tial. Now, whereas it was also showed thee that the 
man could look no way but downwards, it is to let thee 
know that earthly things, when they are with power 
upon men's minds, quite carry their hearts awav from 
God. 

Then said Christiana, Oh, deliver me from this 
muck-rake. 

That prayer, said the Interpreter, has lain by till it 
is almost rusty. " Give me not riches " (Prov. 30 : 8), 
is scarce the prayer of one in ten thousand. Straws, 
and sticks, and dust, with most, are the great things 
now looked after. 

With that Christiana and Mercy wept, and said. It 
is, alas ! too true. 

When the Interpreter had shown them this, he had 
them into the very best room in the house : a very 
bravH room it was. So he bid them look round about, 
ana fc^ee if they could find anything profitable there. 



7 HE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^ 297 

Then they looked round and round ; for there was 
nothing to be seen but a very great spider on the wall, 
and that they overlooked. 

Then said Mercy, Sir, I see nothing. But Christiana 
held her peace. 

But, said the Interpreter, look again. She there- 
fore looked again, and said. Here is not anything but 
an ugly spider, who hangs by her hands upon the wall. 
Then said he, Is there but one spider in all this spaci- 
ous room ? Then the water stood in Christiana's eyes, 
for she was a woman quick of apprehension ; and she 
said, Yea, Lord, there are more here than one ; yea, and 
spiders whose venom is far more destructive than that 
which is in her. The Interpreter then looked pleas- 
antly on her, and said. Thou hast said the truth. This 
made Mercy to blush, and the boys to cover their 
faces ; for they all began now to understand the riddle. 
Then said the Interpreter again, " The spider taketh 
hold with her hands," as you see, " and is in kings' 
palaces." (Prov. 30 : 28.) And wherefore is this re- 
corded, but to show you, that, how full of the venom 
of sin soever you be, yet you may, by the hand of Faith, 
lay hold of and dwell in the best room that belongs to 
the King's house above? 

I thought, said Christiana, of something of this; but 
I could not imagine it all. I thought that we were 
like spiders, and that we looked like ugly creatures, in 
what fine rooms soever we were: but that by this 
spider, that venomous and ill-favored creature, we were 
to learn how to act faith, that came not into my 
thoughts. And yet she had taken hold with her hands, 
and, as I see, dwelleth in the best room in the house. 
God has made nothing in vain. 

Then they seemed all to be glad ; but the wates 
stood in their eyes ; yet they looked one upon another, 
end also bowed before the InterDreter. 



298 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

He had them then into another room, Avhere were a 
hen and chickens, and bid them observe a while. So 
one of the chickens went to the trongh to drink, and 
every time she drank she lifted up her head and her 
eyes towards heaven. See, said he, what this little 
chick doth, and learn of her to acknowledge whence 
your mercies come, by receiving them with looking up. 
Yet again, said he, observe and look. So they gave 
heed, and perceived that the hen did walk in a fourfold 
method towards her chickens : 1. She had a common 
call ; and that she hath all the day long. 2. She had 
a special call ; and that she had but some times. 8. 
She had a brooding not«. (Matt. 23 : 37.) And, 4. 
She had an outcry. 

Now, said he, compare this hen to your King, and 
these chickens to His obedient ones. For, answerable 
to her. He Himself hath His methods which He walketh 
in towards His people. By His common call, He gives 
nothing ; by His special call, He always has something 
to give ; He has also a brooding voice for them that are 
under His wing ; and He has an outcry, to give the 
alarm when He seeth the enemy come. I chose, my 
darlings, to lead you into the room where such things 
are, because you are women, and they are easy for you. 

And, sir, said Christiana, pray let us see some more. 
So he had them into the slaughter-house, where was a 
butcher killing a sheep ; and behold, the sheep was 
quiet, and took her death patiently. Then said the In- 
terpreter, You must learn of this sheep to suffer, and to 
put up with wrongs without murmurings and com- 
plaints. Behold how quietly she takes her death, and, 
without objecting, she suffereth her skin to be pulled 
over her ears. Your King doth call you His sheep. 

After this he led them into his garden, where was 
great variety of flowers ; and he said, Do you see ail 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 2ij9 

ihese ? So Christiana said, Yes. Then said he again. 
Behold, the flowers are diverse in stature, in quality, 
and color, and smell, and virtue ; and some are better 
than others. Also, where the gardener hath set them, 
there they stand, and quarrel not one with another. 

Again, he had them into his field, which he had 
sown with wheat and corn ; but, when they beheld, the 
tops of all were cut off, and only the straw remained. 
He said again, This ground was dunged, and ploughed, 
and sowed, but what shall we do with the crop ? Then 
said Christiana, Burn some, and make muck of the rest. 
Then said the Interpreter again. Fruit, you see, is that 
thing you look for ; and for want of that 3^ou condemn 
it to the fire, and to be trodden under foot of men : be- 
ware that in this you condemn not yourselves. 

Then, as they were coming in from abroad, they 
espied a little robin with a great spider in his mouth. 
So the Interpreter said. Look here. So they looked, 
and Mercy wondered ; but Christiana said. What a dis- 
paragement is it to such a pretty little bird as the robin- 
redbreast ; he being also a bird, above many, that loveth 
to maintain a kind of sociableness with men ! I had 
thought they had lived upon crumbs of bread, or upon 
other such harmless matter ; I like him worse than I 
did. 

The Interpreter then replied. This robin is an em- 
blem, very apt to set forth some professors by ; for to 
sight the}^ are, as this robin, pretty of note, color, and 
carriage. They seem also to have a very great love for 
professors that are sincere ; and, above all others, to 
desire to associate with them, and to be in their com- 
pany, as if they could live upon the good man's crumbs. 
They pretend, also, that therefore it is that they fre- 
quent the house of the godly, and the appointments of 
the Lord. But when they are by themselves, as the 



30O THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

robin, they can catch and gobble up spiders; they can 
change their diet, drink iniquity, and swallow down 
sin like water. 

So, when they were come again into the house, be- 
cause supper as yet was not ready, Christiana again de- 
sired that the Interpreter would either show or tell 
some other things that are profitable. 

Then the Interpreter began, and said. The fatter 
the sow is, the more she desires the mire ; the fatter 
the ox is, the more gamesomely he goes to the slaugh- 
ter ; and the more healthy the lustful man is, the more 
prone he is unto evil. There is a desire in women to 
go neat and fine; and it is a comely thing to be 
adorned with that which in God's sight is of great price. 
'Tis easier watching a night or two, than to sit up a 
whole year together ; so 'tis easier for one to begin to 
profess well, than to hold out as he should to the end. 
Every shipmaster, when in a storm, will willingly cast 
that overboard which i< of the smallest value in the ves- 
sel ; but who will throw the best out first? None but 
he that feareth not God. One leak will sink a ship, 
and one sin will destroy a sinner. He that forgets his 
friend is ungrateful unto him ; but he that forgets his 
Saviour is unmerciful to himself. He that lives in sin, 
and looks for happiness hereafter, is like him that sow- 
eth cockle, and thinks to fill his barn with wheat or 
barley. If a man would live well, let him fetch his last 
day to him, and make it always his company-keeper. 
Whispering, and change of thoughts, prove that sin is 
in the world. If the world, which God sets light by, 
is counted a thing of that worth with men, what is 
heaven, that God commendeth? If the life that is at- 
tended with so many troubles, is so loth to be let go by 
tis, what is the life above ? Ever}'body will cry up the 
goodness of men ; but who is there that is, as h** should 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 30I 

be, affected with the goodness of God ? We seldom sit 
down to meat, but we ear, and leave. So there is in 
Jesus Christ more merit and righteousness than the 
whole world has need of. 

When the Interpreter had done, he takes them out 
into his garden again, and had them to a tree whose in- 
side was all rotten and gone, and yet it grew and had 
leaves. Then said Mercy, What means this? This 
tree, said he, whose outside is fair, and whose inside is 
rotten, is that to which many may be compared that 
are in the garden of God ; who with their mouths speak 
high in behalf of God, but indeed will do nothing for 
Him ; whose leaves are fair, but their heart good for 
nothing but to be tinder for the devil's tinder-box. 

Now supper was ready, the table spread, and all 
things set on tlie l^oard ; so they sat down, and did eat, 
when one had given thanks. And the Interpreter did 
usually entertain those that lodged with him with music 
at meals ; so the minstrels played. There was also one 
that did sing, and a very fine voice he had. His song 
was this : — 

*• The Lord is only my support. 
And He that doth me feed ; 
How can I then want anything 
Whereof I stand in need ? " 

When the song and music were ended, the Inter. 
preter asked Christiana what it was that at first did 
move her thus to betake hei^elf to a pilgrim's life. 
Christiana answered. First, the loss of my husband 
came into my mind, at which I was heartily grieved ; 
but all that was but natural affection. Then, after that 
came the troubles and pilgrimage of my husband into 
my mind, and also how like a churl I had carried it to 
him as to that. So guilt took hold of my mind, and 
would have drawn me into the pond, but that oppop- 



302 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

tunely I had a dream of the well-being of my husband 
and a letter sent me by the King of that country whera 
my husband dwells, to come to Him. The dream and 
the letter together so wrought upon my mind that they 
forced me to this way. 

Inter. But met you with no opposition before you 
set out of doors ? 

Chr. Yes ; a neighbor of mine, one Mrs. Timorous : 
she was akin to him that would have persuaded my 
husband to go back, for fear of the lions. She also 
befooled me, for, as she called it, my intended desperate 
adventure ; she also urged what she could to dishearten 
me from it, the hardships and troubles that my husband 
met with in the way; but all this I got over pretty 
well. But a dream that I had of two ill-looking ones, 
that I thought did plot how to make me miscarry in my 
journey, that hath troubled me much : j^ea, it still runs 
in my mind, and makes me afraid of every one that I 
meet, lest they should meet me to do me a mischief, 
and to turn me out of my way. Yea, I may tell my 
Lord, though I would not have everybody know of it, 
that between this and the gate by which we got into 
the way, we were both so sorely assaulted that we were 
made to cry out murder; and the two that made this 
assault upon us were like the two that I saw in my 
dream. 

Then said the Interpreter, Thy beginning is good; 
thy latter end shall greatly increase. So he addressed 
himself to Mercy, and said unto her. And what moved 
thee to come hither, sweetheart? 

Then Mercy blushed and trembled, and for a while 
continued silent. 

Then said he, Be not afraid, only believe, and speak 
thy mind. 

So she began, and said. Truly, sir, my want of ex« 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 305 

^rience is that which makes me covet to be in silence, 
and that also that fills me with fears of coming short at 
Jast. I cannot tell of visions and dreams, as my friend 
Christiana can ; nor know I what it is to mourn for my 
refusing the counsel of those that were good rehitions. 
Inter. What was it, then, dear heart, that hath 
prevailed with thee to do as thou hast done ? 

Mer. Why, when our friend here was packing up to 
be gone from our town, I and another went accidentally 
to see her. So we knocked at the door, and went in. 
When we were within, and seeing what she was doing, 
we asked her what was her meaning. She said she 
was sent for to go to her husband ; and then slie up 
and told us how she had seen him, in a dream, dwelling 
in a curious place, among immortals, wearing a crown, 
playing upon a harp, eating and drinking at his Prince's 
table, and singing praises to Him for bringing liim 
thither, &c. Now, methought, while she was telling 
these things unto us, my heart burned within me. 
And I said in my heart. If this be true, I will leave my 
father and my mother, and the land of my nativity, and 
will, if I may, go along with Christiana. So I asked 
her further of the truth of these things, and if she 
would let me go with her ; for I saw now that there 
was no dwelling, but with the danger of ruin, any 
longer in our town. But yet I came away with a 
heavy heart; not tor that I was unwilling to come 
away, but for that so many of my relations were left be- 
hind. And I am come with all the desire of my heart, 
and will go, if I may, with Christiana unto her husband 
and his King. 

Inter. Thy setting out is good, for thou hast givea 
credit to the truth ; thou art a Ruth, who did, for the 
love she bare to Naomi and to the Lord her God, leave 
father and mother and the land of her nativity, to com© 



304 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

out and go with a people she knew not heretofore. 
" The Lord recompense thy work, and a tull reward be 
given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose 
wings thou art come to trust." (Ruth 2 : 11, 12.) 

Now supper was ended, and preparation w is made 
for bed ; the women were laid singly alone, and the 
boys by themselves. Now when Mercy was in bed, she 
could not sleep for joy, for that now her doubts of miss- 
ing at last were removed farther from her than ever 
they were before. So she lay blessing and praising 
Ood, who had had such favor for her. 

In the morning they arose with the sun, and pre- 
pared themselves for their departure ; but the Inter- 
preter would have them tarry a while \ For, said he, 
you must orderly go from hence. Then said he to the 
damsel that first opened unto them. Take them and 
have them into the garden to the bath, and there wash 
them and make them clean from the soil which they 
had gathered by travelling. Then Innocent, the damsel, 
took them and led them into the garden, and brought 
them to the bath; so she told them that there they 
must wash and be clean, for so her master would have 
the women to do that called at his house as they were 
going on pilgrimage. Then they went in and washed, 
yea, they and the boys, and all ; and they came out of 
the bath, not only sweet and clean, but also much en- 
livened and strengthened in their joints. So when they 
came in, they looked fairer a deal than when they went 
out to the washing. 

When they were returned out of the garden from 
the bath, the Interpreter took them and looked upon 
them, and said unto them, " Fair as the moon." Then 
he called for the seal wherewith they used to be sealed 
that were washed in his bath. So the seal was brought, 
and he set his mark upon them, that they might be 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ,05 

known in the places whither they were yet to go. 
Now the seal was the contents and sum of the pass- 
over which the children of Israel did eat (Exod. 13 : 
8-10) when they came out of the land of Egypt ; and 
the mark was set between their eyes. This seal greatly 
added to their beauty, for it was an ornament to their 
faces. It also added to their gravity, and made their 
countenances more like those of auQ-els. 

Then said the Interpreter again to the damsel that 
waited upon these women. Go into the vestry, and 
fetch out garments for these people. So she went and 
fetched out white raiment, and laid it down before him ; 
so he commanded them to put it on : it was fine linen 
white and clean. When the women were thus adorned, 
thev seemed to be a terror one to the other ; for that 
they could not see that glory each one had in herself, 
which they could see in each other. Now therefore 
they began to esteem each other better than themselves. 
For, You are fairer than I am, said one ; and, You are 
more comely than I am, said another. The children 
also stood amazed, to see into what fashion they were 
brought. 



THE THIRD STAGE. 



The Interpreter then called for a man-servant of his, 
one Greatheart, and bid him take sword, and helmet, 
and shield ; and, Take these my daughters, said he, and 
conduct them to the house called Beautiful, at which 
place they will rest next. So he took his weapons, and 
went before them ; and the Interpreter said, God speed. 
Those also that belonged to the family sent them away 



3o6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

with many a good wish. So they went on their way, 
and sang : — 

** This place hath been our second stage: 
Here we have heard and seen 
Those good things, that from age to age 
To others hid have been. 

** The dunghill-raker, spider, hen. 
The chicken, too, to me 
Have taught a lesson : let me, theiit 
Conformed to it be. 

•* The butcher, garden, and the field* 
The robin and his bait. 
Also the rotten tree, doth yield 
Me argument of weight, 

•* To move me for to watch and pray. 
To strive to be sincere ; 
To take my cross up day by day. 
And serve the Lord with fear." 

Now I saw, in my dream, that these went on, and 
Greatheart before them. So they went, and came to 
the place where Christian's burden fell off his back and 
tumbled into a sepulchre. Here, then, they made a 
pause ; here also they blessed God. 

Now, said Christiana, it comes to my mind what 
was said to us at the gate, to wit, that we should have 
pardon by word and deed: by word, that is, by the 
promise ; by deed, to wit, in the way it was obtained. 
What the promise is, of that I know something ; but 
what it is to have pardon by deed, or in the way that it 
was obtained, Mr. Greatheart, I suppose you know; 
wherefore, if you please, let us hear your discourse 
thereof. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 30'^ 

Great. Pardon by the deed done, is pardon ob- 
tained by some one for another that hath need thereof; 
not by the person pardoned, but in the way, saith an- 
other, in which I have obtained it. So then, to speak 
to the question more at large, the pardon that you, and 
Mercy, and these boys, have attained, was obtained by 
another ; to wit, by him that let you in at the gate. 
And he hath obtained it in this double way ; he hath 
performed righteousness to cover you, and spilt his 
blood to wash you in. 

Chr. But if he parts with his righteousness to us 
what will he have for himself? 

Great. He has more righteousness than you have 
need of, or than he needeth himself. 

Chr. Pray, make that appear. 

Great. With all my heart. But first I must pr© 
mise, that He of whom we are now about to speak, is 
one that has not his fellow. He has two natures in 
one person, plain to be distinguished, impossible to be 
divided. Unto each of these natures a righteousness 
belongeth, and each righteousness is essential to that 
nature ; so that one may as easily cause that nature to 
be extinct, as to separate its justice or righteousness 
from it. Of these righteousnesses, therefore, we are not 
made partakers, so as that they, or any of them, should 
be put upon us, that we might be made just, and live 
thereby. Besides these, there is a righteousness which 
this person has, as these two natures are joined in 
one. And this is not the righteousness of tlie God- 
head, as distinguished from the manhood ; nor the 
righteousness of the manhood, as distinguished from 
the Godhead ; but a righteousness which standeth 
the union of both in natures, and may properly be 
called the righteousness that is essential to His being 
prepared of God to the capacity of the mediatory ofl5ce» 



3o8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

which He was to be entrusted with. If He parts with 
His first righteousness, He parts with His Godhead ; if 
He parts with his second righteousness, He parts with 
the purity of His manhood ; if He parts with His third, 
He parts with that perfection which capacitates Him 
for the office of mediation. He has therefore another 
righteousness, which standeth in performance, or obedi- 
ence to a revealed will ; and that is what He puts upon 
sinners, and that by which their sins are covered. 
Wherefore he saith, " As by one man's disobedience 
many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one 
shall many be made righteous." (Rom. 5 : 19.) 

Chr. But are the other righteousnesses of no use to 
us? 

Great. Yes ; for though they are essential to His 
natures and offices, and cannot be communicated unto 
another, yet it is by virtue of them that the righteous- 
ness that justifies is for that purpose efficacious. The 
righteousness of His Godhead gives virtue to his obedi- 
ence ; the righteousness of His manhood giveth capa- 
bility to His obedience to justify ; and the righteousness 
that standeth in the union of these two natures to His 
office, giveth authority to that righteousness to do the 
work for which it was ordained. So, then, here is a 
righteousness that Christ, as God, has no need of; for 
He is God without it. Here is a righteousness that 
Christ, as man, has no need of to make Him so ; for He 
is perfect man without it. Again, here is a righteous- 
ness that Christ, as God-man, has no need of; for He is 
perfectly so without it. Here, then, is a righteousness 
that Christ, as God, and as God-man, has no need of 
with reference to Himself, and therefore He can spare 
it ; a justifying righteousness, that He for Himself 
wanteth not, and therefore giveth it away. Hence it 
% called the gift of righteousness. This righteousness. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^(m 

since Christ Jesus the Lord has made Himself under 
the law, must be given away ; for the law doth not 
only bind him that is under it, to do justly, but to use 
charity. (Rom. 5 : 17.) Wherefore he must, or ought 
• by the law, if he hath two coats, to give one to him 
that hath none. Now, our Lord indeed hath two coats, 
one for Himself, and one to spare i wherefore He freely 
bestows one upon thosa that have nonj. And thus, 
Christiana and Mercy, and the rest of you that are here, 
doth your pardon come by deed, or by the work of 
another man. Your Lord Christ is He that worked, 
and hath given away what He wrought for, to the next 
poor beggar He meets. But again, in order to pardon 
by deed, there must something be paid to God as a 
price, as well as something prepared to cover us withaL 
Sin has delivered us up to the just curse of a vighteoua 
law. Noy, from this curse, we must be justified by 
way of redemption, a price being paid for the harma 
we have done ; and this is by the blood of your Loj c\ 
who came and stood in your place and stead, and died 
your death for your transgressions. Thus has He ran- 
somed you from your transgressions by blood, and cov- 
ered your p 11 ited and deformed souls with righteous 
ness (Rom, 8 : 34) ; for the sake of which, God passetK 
by you and will not hurt you when He comes to judg. 
the\vorld. (GaL 3 : 13.) 

Chr. This is brave! Now I see that there wad 
something to be learned by our being pardoned b^ 
word and deed. Good Mercy, let us labor to keep thu* 
in mind , and, my children, do you remember it also. 
But, sir, was not this it that made my good Christian's 
burden fall from off his shoulders, and that made him 
give three leaps for joy ? 

Great. Yes ; it was the belief of this that cut those 
strings that could not be cut by other means ; and it 



|,« THE PILGRIM*S PROGRESS, 

was to give him proof of the virtue of this, that he wai 
suffered to carry his burden to the cross. 

Chr. I thought so ; for though my heart vras light- 
some and joyous before, yet It is ten times more lij^ht- 
some and joyous now. And I am persuaded by what 
have felt, though I have felt but little as yet, that it 
the most burdened man in the world was here, and did 
see and believe as I now do, it would make his heart 
the more merry and blithe. 

Great. There is not only comfort and' the ease of a 
burden brought to us by the ight and consideration of 
these, but an en eared affection befifot in us by it : tor 
who can, if he doth but one think tha pardon comea 
not only by promise but thus, but be affected with the 
way and means of his redemption, and so with the man 
that hath wrought it for him ? 

Chr. True; methinks it makes my heart bleei to 
think that He should bleed for me. Oh, thou loving 
One : Oh, thou blessed One. Thou deservest to have 
me ; thou hast b ught me. Thou deservest to have me 
all: thou hast paid for me ten thousand times more 
than I am worth. No marvel th t this made the tears 
stand in my husband's eyes, and that it made him 
trudge so nimbly on. I am persuaded he wished me 
with him : but, vile wretch that I was, I let him come 
all alone. Oh, Mercy, that thy father and mother were 
here j yea, and Mrs. Timorous also : nay, I wish now 
with all my heart that here was Madam Wanton, too. 
Surely, surely, their hearts would be affected ; nor 
could the fear of the one, nor the powerful lusts of the 
other, prevail with them to go home again, and refuse 
to become good pilgrims. 

Great. You speak now in the warmth of your 
affections. Will it, think you, be always thus with 
you ? Besides, this is not communicated to every one, 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 3H 

nor to every one that did see your Jesus bleed. Ther« 
were that stood by, and hat sr w th blood run from 
His heart to ground, and yet ^er so far off this, 

that, instead of lamenHng, they laughed at Him, and, 
instead of becoming His disciples did harden their 
hearts againct Him. So that all that yo l have, my 
daughters, you have by peculiar impression made by a 
divine coitemplating upon what I have spoken to you. 
Remember, that 'twas told y u, that the hen, by her 
common call, gives no meat to her chickens. This you 
have therefore by a special grace. 

Now I saw, in my dream, hat they went on until 
they were come to the place that Simple, and Sloth, 
and Piesumption, lay and slept in when Christian went 
by on pilgrimage. And behold, they were hanged up 
in irons a little way off on the other sido. 

Then said Mercy to him that was their guide and 
conductor, What are these three men? and for what 
are they hanged there? 

Great. These three men were men of very bad 
qualities. They had no mind to be pilgrims them- 
selves, and whomsoever they could, they hindered. 
The}'' were for sloth and folly themselves, and whom- 
soever they could persuade, they made so, too , and 
withal, taught them to presume that they should do 
well at last. They were asleep when Christian went 
by; and now you go by, they are hanged. 

Mer. But could they persuade any to be of their 
opinion ? 

Great. Yes; they turned several out of the way. 
There was Slowpace that they persuaded to do as they. 
They also prevailed with one Shortwind, with one No- 
heart, with one Lingerafterlust, and with one Sleepy- 
head ; and with a young woman, her name was Dull, to 
turn out of the way and become as they. Besides, they 



3 1 2 THE PIL GRIM 'S FROGRESS. 

brought up an ill report of your Lord; persuading 
others that he was a hard taskmaster. The}^ also 
brought up an evil report of the good land ; saying it 
was not half so good as some pretended it was. They 
also began to vilify his servants, and to count the best 
of them meddlesome, troublesome busybodies. Fur- 
ther, they would call the bread of God, husks ; the 
comforts of his children, fancies ; the travel and labor 
of pilgrims, things to no purpose. 

Nay, said Christiana, if they were such, they shall 
never be bewailed by me. They have but what they 
deserve ; and I think it is well that they stand so neai 
the highway, that others may see and take warning. 
But had it not been well if their crimes had been en- 
graven in some plate of iron or brass, and left here 
where they did their mischiefs, for a caution to oiher 
bad men ? 

Great. So it is, as you may well perceive, if you 
will go a little to the wall. 

Mer. No, no ; let them hang, and their names rot, 
and their crimes live forever against them. I think it 
a high favor that they were hanged before we came 
hither. Who knows else what they might have doa« 
to such poor women as we are ? 

Then she turned it into a song, saying, — 

** Now, then, you three hang there, and be a siga 
To all that shall against the truth combine ; 
And let him that comes after fear this end, 
If unto Pilgrims he is not a friend. 
And thou, my soul, of all such men beware, 
That unto holiness opposers are," 

Thus they went on till they came to the foot of tb^ 
hill Difficulty ; where, again, the good Mr. Greatheart 
took an occasion to tell them of what happened thor? 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 3 1 3 

when Christian himself went by. So he had them first 
to the spring. Lo, saith he, this is the spring that 
Christian drank of before he went up this hill : and 
then it was clear and good ; but now it is dirty with the 
feet of some that are not desirous that pilgrims here 
should quench their thirst. (Ezek. 34 : 18, 19.) Thereat 
Mercy said, And why so envious, trow ? But, said 
their guide, it will do, if taken up and put into a vessel 
that is sweet and good ; for then the dirt will sink to 
the bottom, and the water come out by itself more clear. 
Thus, therefore, Christiana and her companions were 
compelled to do. They took it up, and put it into an 
earthen pot, and so let it stand till the dirt was gone to 
the bottom, and then they drank thereof. 

Next he showed them the two by-ways that were at 
the foot of the hill, where Formality and Hypocrisy lost 
themselves. And, said he, these are dangerous paths. 
Two were here cast away when Christian came b}^ •, 
and although, as you see, these ways are since stopped 
up with chains, posts, and a ditch, yet there are those 
that will choose to adventure here, rather than take 
the pains to go up this hill. 

Chr. *' The way of transgressors is hard," ProVv 
(3: 15.) It is a wonder that they can get into these 
ways without danger of breaking their necka 

Great. They will venture : yea, if at any time any 
of the King's servants do happen to see them, and do 
call upon them, and tell them that they are in the 
wrong way, and do bid them beware of the danger, 
then they railingly return them answer, and say, " As 
for the word that thou hast spoken unto us in the name 
of the King, we will not hearken unto thee ; but wo 
will certainly do whatsoever thing goeth out s)i cut 
own mouth." (Jer. 44 : 16, 17.) Kay, if you look a 
Uttie farther, you shall see that these ways are maiiii; 



3 1 4 TBE PIL GRIM'S PROGRESS. 

cautionary enough, not only by these posts, and ditch, 
and chain, but also by being hedged up : yet they will 
choose to go there. 

Chr. They are idle ; they love not to take pains \ 
up-hill way is unpleasant to them. So it is fulfilled 
unto them, as it is written, " The way of the slothful 
man is as an hedge of thorns." (Pro v. 15 : 19.) Yea, they 
will rather choose to walk upon a snare than to go up 
this hill, and the rest of this way to the city. 

Then they set forward, and began to go up the hill, 
and up the hill they went. But before tliey got to the 
top, Christiana began to pant, and said, I dare say this 
is a breathing hill : no marvel if they that love their 
ease more than their souls choose to themselves a 
smoother way. 

Then said Mercy, I must sit down : also the least of 
the children began to cry. Come, come, said Great- 
heart, sit not down here, for a little above is the Prince's 
arbor. Then he took the little boy by the hand, and 
led him up thereto. 

When they were come to the arbor, they were very 
willing to sit down, for they were all in a pelting heat. 
Then said Mercy, " How sweet is rest to them that 
labor." (Matt. 11 : 28.) And how good is the Prince 
of Pilgrims to provide such resting-places for them I 
Of this arbor I have heard much ; but I never saw it 
before. But here let us beware of sleeping ; for, as I 
have heard, it cost poor Christian dear. 

Then said Mr. Greatheart to the little ones, Come, 
my pretty boys, how do you do ? What think you now 
of going on pilgrimage? Sir, said the least, I was 
almost beat out of heart ; but I thank you for lending 
me a hand at my need. And I remember now what 
my mother hath told me, namely, that the way to 
keaven is as a ladder, and the way to hell is as dowxi » 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS^ 315 

hill. But I had rather go up the ladder to life, than 
lown the hill to death. 

Then said Mercy, But the proverb is, " To go down 
the hill is easy." But James said (for that was his 
name). The day is coming when, in my opinion, going 
down the hill will be hardest of all. 'Tis a good boy, 
Baid his master ; thou hast given her a right answer. 
Then Mercy smiled ; but the little boy did blush. 

Come, said Christiana, will you eat a bite to sweeten 
your mouths, while you sit here to rest your legs ? for 
I have here a piece of pomegranate, which Mr. Inter- 
preter put into my hand just when I came out of his 
door. He gave me also a piece of an honeycomb, and a 
little bottle of spirits. I thought he gave you some- 
thing, said Mercy, because he called you aside. Yes, 
so he did, said the other ; but, said Christiana, it shall 
be still as I said it should, when at first we came from 
home ; thou shalt be a sharer in all the good that I 
have, because thou so willingly didst become my com- 
panion. Then she gave to them, and they did eat, both 
Mercy and the boys. And said Christiana to Mr. 
Greatheart, Sir, will you do as we? But he answered. 
You are going on pilgrimage, and presently I shall re- 
turn ; much good may what you have do you : at homo 
I eat the same every day. 



THE FOURTH STAGE. 



Now, when they had eaten and drank, and had 
chatted a little longer, their guide said to them. The 
day wears away ; ii vou think good, let us prepare to 
be going. So they got up to go, and the little boye 
went before : but Christiana forgot to take her bottle 



2^5 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

of spirits with her, so she sent her little boy back t< 
fetch it. Then, said, Mercy, I think this is a losing 
place. Here Christian lost his roll ; and here Chris- 
tiana left her bottle behind her. Sir, what is the cause 
of this ? So their guide made answer, and said. The 
cause is sleep, or forgetfulness : some sleep when they 
should keep awake, and some forget when they should 
remember : and this is the very cause why often, at the 
resting-places, some pilgrims in some things come off 
losers. Pilgrims should watch, and remember what 
they have already received, under their greatest enjoy- 
ments ; but, for want of doing so, oftentimes their re- 
joicing ends in tears, and their sunshine in a cloud : 
witness the story of Christian at this place. 

When they were come to the place where Mistrust 
and Timorous met Christian, to persuade him to go 
back for fear of the lions, they perceived, as it were, a 
stage ; and before it, towards the road, a broad plate 
with a copy of verses written thereon ; and underneath 
the reason of raising up that stage in that place ren- 
dered. The verses were these: — 

" Let him that sees this stage take heed 
Unto his heart and tongue ; 
Lest, if he do not, here he speed 
As some have long agone," 

The words underneath the verses were : " T'as stage 
ivas built to punish those upon, who, thrr ^gh timor- 
ousness or mistrust, shall be afraid to go ^u-rther on pil- 
grimage. Also, on this stage both Mis^ list and Timor- 
ous were burned through the tongu*^ with a hot iron, 
for endeavoring to hinder Christian on his journey. 

Then said Mercy, This is much like to the saying of 
the Beloved: " What shall be given unto thee, or what 
uhall be dona unto taee,^^hou false tongue ? Sharp 



THE PILGRIM'S FROGRESS^ 317 

arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper.** (Psalm 
120 : 3, 4.) 

So they went on till they came within sight of the 
lions. Now Mr. Greatheart was a strong man, so he 
was not afraid of a lion. But, yet when they were 
come up to the place where the lions were, the boys, 
that went before, were now glad to cringe behind, for 
they were afraid of the lions ; so they stepped back, 
and went behind. At this their guide smiled, and said> 
How now, my boys ; do you love to go before when no 
danger doth approach, and love to come behind so soon 
as the lions appear ? 

Now, as they went on, Mr. Greatheart drew his 
Bword, with intent to make a way for the pilgrims in 
spite of the lions. Then there appeared one that, it 
seems, had taken upon him to back the lions ; and he 
said to the pilgrims' guide, What is the cause of your 
coming hither? Now the name of that man was Grim, 
ur Bloodyman, because of his slaying of pilgrims ; and 
ho was of the race of the giants. 

Then said the pilgrims' guide. These w^omen and 
children are going on pilgrimage, and this is the way 
they must go ; and go it they shall, in spite of thee and 
the lions. 

Grim. This is not their way, neither shall they go 
therein. I am come forth to withstand them, and to 
that end will back the lions. 

Now, to say the truth, by reason of the fierceness of 
the lions, and of the grim carriage of him that did back 
them, this way had of late lain much unoccupied, and 
Was almost grown over with grass. 

Then said Christiana, Though the highways have 
been unoccupied heretofore, and though the travellers 
have been made in times past to walk through by-paths, 
it must not be so now I am risen,- -' Now I am risen a 
UrasL*/ _^:^4^^ 5: '\ i'\ 



jjr^ THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Then he swore, by the lions, that it should ; and 
therefore bid them turn aside, for thej^ should not have 
passage there. 

But Greatheart their guide made first his approach 
unto Grim, and laid so heavily on him with his sword 
that he forced him to retreat. 

Then said he that attempted to back the lions, Will 
you slay me upon my own ground? 

Great. It is the King's highway that we are in, 
and in his way it is that thou has placed the lions ; but 
these women, and these children, though weak, shall 
hold on their way in spite of thy lions. And with that 
ho gave him again a downright blow, and brought him 
upon his knees. With this blow also he broke his hel- 
met, and with the next he cut off an arm. Then did 
the giant roar so hideously that his voice frightened 
the women, and yet they were glad to see him lie 
sprawling upon the ground. Now the lions were 
chained, and so of themselves could do nothing. Where- 
fore, when old Grim, that intended to back them, was 
dead, Mr. Greatheart said to the pilgrims, Come now, 
and follow me, and no hurt shall happen to you from 
the lions. They therefore went on, but the women 
trembled as they passed by them ; the boys also looked 
as if they would die ; but they all got by without fur- 
ther hurt. 

Now, when they were within sight of the Porter's 
lodge, they soon came up unto it ; but they made the 
more haste after this to go thither, because it is danger- 
ous travelling there in the night. Sc when they were 
come to the gate the guide knocked, and the Porter 
cried, Who is there ? But as soon as the guide had 
said, It is I, he knew his voice, and came down ; for 
the guide had oft before that come thither as a con- 
ductor of pilgrims. When he was come down, he 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 31^ 

opened the gate ; and seeing the guide standing just 
before it (for he saw not the women, for they were be- 
hind him), he said unto him, How now, Mr. Greatheart, 
what is your business here so late at night ? 

I have brought, said he, some pilgrims hither, where, 
by my Lord's commandment, they must lodge. I had 
been here some time ago, had I not been opposed by 
the giant that did used to back the lions. But I, after 
a long and tedious combat with him, have cut him q% 
and have brought the pilgrims hither in safety. 

POR. Will you not go in, and stay till morning? 

Great. No ; I will return to my I^ord to-nighu 

Chr. Oh, sir, I know not how tx ot willing yon 
should leave us in our pilgrimage. You have been so 
faithful and so loving lo us, you have fought so stoutly 
for us, you have been so hearty in counselling of us, 
that I shall never forget your favor towards us. 

Then said Mercy, Oh, that we might have thy com- 
pany to our journey's end ! How can such poor women 
as we hold out in a way so full of troubles as this way 
is, without a friend and defender ? 

Then said James, the youngest of the boys. Pray, 
sir, be persuaded to go with us, and help us, because 
we are so weak, and the way so dangerous as it is. 

Great. I am at my Lord's commandment. If he 
A.hall allot me to be your guide quite through, I will 
willingly wait upon you. But here you failed at first; 
for when he bid me come thus far with you, then you 
should have begged me of him to have gone quite 
through with you, and he would have granted your 
request. However, at present I must withdraw ; and 
so, good Christiana, Mercy, and my brave children, 
Adieu. 

Then the Porter, Mr. Watchful, asked Christiana of 
her country, and of her kindred. And she said, I came 



320 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

from the city of Destruction. I am a widow woman, 
and my husband is dead ; his name was Christian, the 
pilgrim. How ! said the Porter, Avas he your husband? 
Yes, said she, and these are his children; and this, 
pointing to Mercy, is one of my towns women. Then 
the Porter rang his bell, as at such times he is wont, 
and there came to the door one of the damsels, whose 
name was Hiirablemind ; and to her the Porter said. 
Go tell it within, that Christiana, the wife of Christian, 
and her children, are come hither on pilgrimage. She 
went in, therefore, and told it. But, oh, what a noise 
for gladness was there within, when the damsel did but 
drop that word out of her mouth ! 

So they came with haste to the Porter, for Christiana 
stood still at the door. Then some of the most grave 
said unto her, Come in, Christiana , come in, thou wife 
of that good man ; come in, thou blessed woman ; come 
in, with all that are with thee. So she went in, and 
they followed her that were her children and com- 
panions. Now, when they were gone in, they were had 
into a large room, where they were bidden to sit down : 
so they sat down, and the chief of the house were called 
to see and welcome the guests. Then they came in, 
and, understanding who they were, did salute each one 
with a kiss, and said. Welcome, ye vessels of the grace 
of God ; welcome to us, your friends. 

Now, because it was somewhat late, and because the 
pilgrims were weary with their journey, and also made 
faint with the sight of the fight, and of the terrible 
iions, they desired, as soon as might be, to prepare to 
go to rest. Nay, said those of the family, refresh your- 
selves first with a morsel of meat; for they had pre- 
pared for them a lamb, with the accustomed sauce be« 
longing thereto (Exod. 12: 21; John 1: 29); for the 
Porter had heard before of their coming, and had tol(J 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 32S 

it to them within. So when they had supped, and 
ended their prayer with a psalm, tliey desired they 
might go to rest. 

But let us, said Christiana, if we may be so bold as 
to choose, be in that chamber that was my husband's 
when he was here. So they had them up thither, and 
they all lay in a room. When they were at rest, Chris- 
tiana and Mercy entered into discourse about things 
that were convenient. 

Chr. Little did I think once, when my husband 
went on pilgrimage, that I should ever have followed 
him. 

Mer. And you as little thought of lying in his bed, 
and In his chamber to rest, as you do now. 

Chr. And much less did I ever think of seeing his 
face with comfort, and of worshiping the Lord the King 
with him ; and yet, now I believe I shall. 

Mer. Hark I Don't you hear a noise ? 

Chr, Yes. It is, as I believe, a noise of music, for 
joy that we are here. 

Mer. Wonderful ! Music in the house, music in the 
heart, and music also in heaven, for joy that we are here I 

Thus they talked a while, and then betook them- 
selves to sleep. So in the morning, when they were 
awake, Christiana said to Mercy, What was the matter, 
that you did laugh in your sleep to-night '^ I s-uppose 
you were in a dream. 

Mer. So I was, and a sweet dream it was j but anv 
you sure I laughed ? 

Chr. Yes ; you laughed heartily. But prithee^ 
Mercy, tell me thy dream. 

Mer. I was dreaming that I sat all alone in a soli* 
tary place; and was bemoaning of the hardness of my 
heart. Now I had not sat there long, but me thought; 
many were gathered about to see me. and tc/ hear what 



328 



THE PILGRIM *S PROGRESS^ 



it was that I said. So they hearkened, and I went on 
bemoaning the hardness of my heart. At this, some of 
them laughed at me, some called me fool, and some 
began to thrust me about. With that, methought 1 
looked up and saw on coming with wings towards me. 
So he came directly to me, and said, Mercy, what aileth 
thee ? Now, when he had heard me make my complaint, 
he said, Peace be to thee ; he also wiped my eyes with 
Vis handkerchief, and clad me In silver and gold. He 
put a chain about my neck, and earrings in my ears, 
and a beautiful crown upon my head. (Ezek. 16: 11- 
13.) Then he took me by the hand, and said, Mercy, 
come after me. So he went up, and I followed, till we 
came at a golden gate. Then he knocked ; and when 
they within had opened, the man went in, and I fol- 
lowed him up to a throne, upon which One sat; and he 
said to me. Welcome, daughter. The place looked 
bright and twinkling, like the stars, or rather like the 
sun, and I thought that I saw your husband there ; so 
I awoke from my dream. But did I laugh ? 

Chr. Laugh ! aye, and well you might, to see your- 
self so well. For you must give me leave to tell you 
that I believe it was a good dream ; and that, as you 
have begun to find the first part true, so you shall find 
the second at last. " God speaks once, yea, twice, yet 
man perceiveth it not ; in a dream, in a vision of the 
night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in slumber- 
ings upoM the bed." (Job 83 : 14, 15.) We need not, 
when abed, to lie awake to talk with God ; he can visit 
us while we sleep, and cause us then to hear his voice. 
Our heart oftentimes wakes when we sleep, and God 
can speak to that, either by words, by proverbs, by 
signs and similitudes, as well as it one was awake. 

Mer. Well, I am glad of my dream ; for I hope erd 
long to see it fulfilled, tc tb^ making^ me laup^h ac^aiis 



IHE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 3J3 

Chr. I think it is now high time to rise, and to 
kuow what we must do. 

Mer. Pray, if they invite lis to stay a while, let ua 
willingly accept of the proffer. I am the more willing 
to stay a while here, to grow better acquainted with 
these maids. Methinks Prudence, Piety, and Charity, 
have very comely and sober countenances. 

Chr. We shall see what they will do. 

So, when they were up and ready, they came down, 
and they asked one another of their rest, and if it was 
comfortable or not. 

MiiiR. Very good, said Mercy : it was one of the best 
night's lodgings that ever I had in my life. 

Then said Prudence and Piety, If you will be per- 
suaded to stay here a while, you shall have what the 
house will afford. 

Aye, and that with a very good will, said Charity. 

So they consented, and stayed there about a montij 
or above, and became very profitable one to another. 
And because Prudence would see how Christiana ha(l 
brought up her children, she asked leave of her to 
catechize them. So she gave her free consent. Then 
she began with her youngest, whose name was James. 

And she said, Come, James, canst thou tell me who 
made thee ? 

James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the 
Holy Ghost. 

Prud- Good boy. And canst thou tell who saved 
thee? 

James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the 
Holy Ghost. 

Prud. Good boy still. But how doth God the 
father save thee? 

James. By His grace. 

Peui>. How doth God the Son s»ve thea^ 



324 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Jambs. By Hia righteousness, death, and blood, an<l 
life. 

PnuD. And how doth God the Holy Ghost save thee ? 

James. By His illumination, by His renovation, and 
by His preservation. 

Then said Prudence to Christiana, '* You are to be 
commended for thus bringing up your children. I 
suppose I need not ask the rest these qiiestions, since 
the youngest of them can answer them so well. I will 
therefore now apply myself to the next youngest. 

Then she said, Come, Joseph (for his name was 
Joseph), will you let me catechize you ? 

Joseph. With all my heart 

pRU^. What is man ? 

Joseph. A reasonable creature, bo made by God, as 
my brother said. 

PnuD. What is supposed by this word, saved ? 

Joseph. That man, by sin, has brought himself into 
a state of captivity and misery. 

Prud. What is supposed by his being saved by the 
Trinity ? 

Joseph. That sin is so great and mighty a tyrant 
that none can pull us out of its clutches but God ; and 
that God is so good and loving to man, as to pull him 
indeed out of this miserable state. 

Prud. What is God's design in saving of poor men ? 

Joseph. The glorifying of His name, of His grace, 
and justice, &c., and the everlasting happiness of His 
creature. 

Prud. Who are they that will be saved ? 

Joseph. They that accept of His salvation. 

Prud. Good boy, Joseph ; thy mother h^^ taught 
thee well, and thou hast hearkened unto what she has 
said unto thee. 

Then said Prudence to Samuel, whn was the eldest 



THE tILG RIM'S PROGRESS. 325 

but one, Come, Samuel, are you willing that I should 
eatechize you ? 

Sam. Yes, forsooth, if you please. 

Peud. What is heaven? 

Sam. a place and state most blessed, because God 
dwelleth there. 

Prud. What is hell? 

Sam. a place and state most woful, because it is 
the dwelling-place of sin, the devil, and death. 

pRUD. Why wouldst thou go to heaven ? 

Sam. That I may see God, and serve Him without 
dreariness: that I may see Christ, and love Him ever- 
lastingly ; that I may have that fullness of the Holy 
Spirit in me which I can by no means here enjoy. 

Peud. A very good boy, and one that has learned well. 

Then she addressed herselt to tne eldest, whose 
name was Matthew ; and she said to him, Come, Mat- 
thew, shall I also catechize you ? 

Matt, With a very good will. 

Peud. I ask then, if there was ever anything that 
had a being antecedent to or before God .^ 

Matt. No, for God is eternal ; nor is there anything, 
excepting Himself, that had a being until the begin- 
ning of the first day. For in six days the Lord made 
heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is. 

Peud. What do you think of the Bible ? 

Matt. It is the holy word of God. 

Peud. Is there nothing written therein but what 
you understand ? 

Matt. Yes, a great deal. 

Peud. What do you do when yon meet with places 
therein that you do not understand ? 

Matt. I think God is wiser than T. I pray also 
that he will please to let me know all therein that h© 
knows will be for my good. 



325 '^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Prud. How believe you as touching the resurrea* 
tion of the dead ? 

Matt. I believe they shall rise the same that was 
buried ; the same in nature, though not in corruption. 
And I believe this upon a double account : first, be- 
cause God has promised it ; secondly, because he is 
able to perform it. 

Then said Prudence to the boys, You must still 
hearken to your mother ; for she can teach you more. 
You must also diligently give ear to what good talk you 
shall hear from others : for your sakes do they speak 
good things. Observe also, and that with carefulness, 
what the heavens and the earth do teach you ; but 
especially be much in meditation of that book which 
was the cause of your tather's becoming a pilgrim. I, 
for my part, my children, will teach you what I cau 
while you are here, and shall be glad if you will ask 
me questions that tend to godly edifying. 

Now, by that these pilgrims had been at this place 
a week, Mercy had a visitor that pretended some good 
will unto her, and his name was Mr. Brisk ; a man of 
some breeding, and that pretended to religion, but a 
man that stuck very close to the world. So he came 
once or twice, or more, to Mercy, and offered love unto 
her. Now Mercy was of a fair countenance, and there- 
fore the more alluring. Her mind also was to be 
always busying of herself in doing ; for when she had 
nothing to do for herself, she would be making hose 
and garments for others, and would bestow them upon 
those that had need. And Mr. Brisk not knowing 
where or how she disposed of what she made, seemed 
to be greatly taken, for that he found her never idle. 
I will warrant her a good housewife, quoth he to him- 
self. 

Mercy then revealed the business to the maidenig 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. a -, . 

fchat were of the house, and inquired of them concern- 
ing him, for they did know him better than she. So 
they told her that he was a very busy young man, and 
one who pretended to religion, but was, as they feared, 
a stranger to the power of that which is good. 

Nay, then, said Mercy, I will look no more on him ; 
for I purpose never to have a clog to my soul. 

Prudence then replied, that there needed no matter 
©f great discouragement to be given to him; her con- 
tinuing so as she had begun to do for the poor, would 
quickly cool his courage. 

So the next time he comes he finds her at her old 
work, making things for the poor. Then said he, 
What, always at it? Yes, said she, either for myself or 
for others. And what canst thou earn a day ? said he. 
I do these things, said she, that I may be rich in good 
Avorks, laying up in store for myself a good foundation 
against the time to come, that I may lay hold on eter- 
nal life. (1 Tim. 6 : 17-49.) Why,' prithee, what doest 
thou with them? said he. Clothe the naked, said she. 
With that his countenance fell. So he forebore to 
come at her again. And when he was asked the reason 
why, he said, that Mercy was a pretty lass, but troubled 
Tith ill conditions. 

When he had left her. Prudence said, Did I not tell 
thee that Mr. Brisk would soon forsake thee ? yea, he 
will rise up an ill report of thee ; for, notwithstanding 
his pretence to religion, and his seeming love to Mercy, 
yet Mercy and he are of tempers so different that I be- 
lieve they will never come together. 

Mer. I might have had husbands before now, though 

1 spoke not of it to any ; but they wei-e such as did not 

like my conditions, though never did any of them find 

fault with my person. So they and I could not agree. 

Prud. Mercy in our days is but little set by, aaj^ 



328 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

further than as to its name : the practice which is set 
forth by thy conditions, there are but few that can 
abide. 

Well, said Mercy, if nobody will have me, I will die 
unmarried, or my conditions shall be to me as a hus- 
band : for I cannot change my nature , and to have one 
who lies cross to me in this, that I purpose never to ad- 
mit of as long as I live. I had a sister named Bounti- 
ful, that was married to one of these churls, but he and 
she could never agree. But because my sister was re- 
solved to do as she had begun, that is, to show kind- 
ness to the poor, therefore her husband first cried her 
down at the cross, and then turned her out of his 
doors. 

Peud. And yet he was a professor, I warrant you. 

Mer. Yes, such a one as he was ; and of such as 
he the world is now full. But I am for none of them 
all. 

Now Matthew, the eldest son of Christiana, fell sick, 
and his sickness was sore upon him, for he was much 
pained in his bowels, so that he was with it at times 
pulled, as it were, both ends together. There dwelt 
also, not far from thence, one Mr. Skill, an ancient and 
well-approved physician. So Christiana desired it, and 
they sent for him, and he came. AVhen he was entered 
the room, and had a little observed the boy, he con- 
cluded that he was sick of the gripes. Then he said to 
his mother, What diet has Matthew of late fed upon ? 
Diet ! said Christiana, nothing but what i» wholesome. 
The physician answered. This boy has been tampering 
with something that lies in his stomach undigested, and 
that will not av/ay without means. And I tell you he 
Jaust be purged, or else he will die. 

Then said Samuel, Mother, what was that which 
my brother did gather up and eat as soois as we were 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



329 



oome from the gate that is at the head of this way? 
You know that there was an orchard on the left hand, 
on the other side of the wall, and some of the trees hung 
over the wall, and my brother did pluck and eat. 

True, my child, said Christiana, he did take thereof, 
find did eat. Naughty boy as he was, I chid him, and 
yet he would eat thereof 

Skill. I knew he had eaten something that was not 
wholesome food ; and that food, to wit, that fruit, is 
even the most hurtful of all. It is the fruit of Beel- 
zebub's orchard. I do marvel that none did warn you 
of it ; many have died thereof. 

Then Christiana began to cry ; and she said. Oh, 
naughty boy ! and, Oh, careless mother ! what shall I 
do for my son ? 

Skill. Come, do not be too much dejected; the boy 
may do well again, bi:: he must purge and vomit. 

Chr. Pray, sir, try the utmost of your skill with 
him, whatever it costs. 

Skill. Nay, I hope I shall be reasonable. 
So he made him a purge, but it was too weak; it 
\\as said it was made of the blood of a goat, the ashes 
of a heifer, and some of the juice of hyssop. (Heb. 9 : 
13, 19: 10, 1-4.) When Mr. Skill had seen that that 
purge was too weak, he made one to the purpose. It 
was made ex came et sanguine Christi * (John 6 : 54—57 ; 
"Heb. 9 : 14), (you know ph3^sicians give strange medi- 
cines to their patients) ; and it was made into pills, 
with a promise or two, and a proportionable quantity 
of salt. (Mark 9 : 49.) Now, he was to take them 
three at a time, fasting, in half a quarter of a pint of 
the tears of repentance. (Zech. 12 : 10.) 

When this potion was prepared, and brought to the 
boy, he was loth to take it, though torn with the gripea 

• Ot the flesb and blood of Christ. 



,^g THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

as if he should be pulled in pieces. Come, come, said 
the physician, you must take it. It goes against my 
stomach, said the boy. I must have you take it said 
his mother. I shall vomit it up again, said the boy. 
Pray, sir, said Christiana to Mr. Skill, how does it 
taste ? It has no ill taste, said the doctor ; and with 
that she touched one of the pills with the tip of her 
tongue. Oh, Matthew, said she, this potion is sweeter 
than honey. If thou lovest thy mother, if thou lovest 
thy brothers, if thou lovest Mercy, if thou lovest thy 
life, take it. So, with much ado, after a short prayer 
for the blessing of God upon it, he took it, and it 
wrought kindly with him. It caused him to purge ; it 
caused him to sleep, and to rest quietly ; it put him 
into a fine heat and breathing sweat, and did quite rid 
him of his gripes. So in a little time he got up, and 
walked about with a staff, and would go from room to 
room, and talk with Prudence, Piety, and Charity, of 
his distemper, and how he Avas healed. 

So, when the boy was healed, Christiana asked Mr. 
Skill, saying, Sir. what will content you for your pains 
and care to and of my child ? And he said. You must 
pay the master of the College of Physicians (Heb. 13: 
11-15), according to rules made in that case and pro- 
vided. 

But, sir, said she, what is this pill good for else? 

Skill. It is a universal pill ; it is good against all 
the diseases that pilgrims are incident to ; and when it 
is well prepared, it will keep good, time out of mind. 

Chr. Pray, sir, make me up twelve boxes of them; 
for if I can get these, I will never take other physic. 

Skill. These pills are good to prevent diseases, as 
well as to cure when one is sick. Yea, I dare say it, 
and stand to it, that if a man will but use this physic as 
he should, it will make him live forever. (John 6 : 51 .') 



THE PILGir/M'S PROGRESS. ^7,\ 

But, good Christiana, thou must give these pills no 
other way but as I have prescribed ; for if you do, they 
will do no good. So he gave unto Christiana physic 
for herself, and her boys, and for Mercy ; and bid Mat- 
thew take heed how he ate any more green plums ; and 
kissed them and went his way. 

It was told you before, that Prudence bid the boys, 
that if at any time they would, they should ask her 
some questions that might be profitable, and she would 
say something to them. 

Then Matthew, who had been sick, asked her, whv 
for the most part, physic should be bitter to our 
palates. 

Pkud. To show how unwelcome the word of God 
and the effects thereof are to a carnal heart. 

Matt. Why does physic, if it does good, purge, and 
cause to vomit? 

Prud. To show that the Word, when it works, ef 
fectually, cleanseth the heart and mind. For, look, 
what the one doth to the body, the other doth to the 
soul. 

Matt. What should we learn by seeing the flam.e 
of our fire go upwards, and by seeing the beams and 
sweet influences of the sun strike downwards? 

PRXJD. By the going up of the fire, we are taught 
to ascend to heaven by fervent and hot desires. x\nd 
by the sun sending his heat, beams, and sweet influ* 
ences downwards, we are taught the Saviour of the 
world, though high, reaches down with his grace and 
love to us below. 

Matt. Whence have the clouds their v/ater? 

PuUD. Ovit of me sea. 

Matt. What may we learn fi-ora that ^ 

Prud. That ministers should feich their doctrine 
from (xod. 



332 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Matt. Why do they empty themselves upon the 
earth ? 

Prud. To show that ministers should give out what 
they know of God to the world. 

Matt. Why is the rainbow caused by the sun? 

Prud. To show that the covenant of God's gra^e is 
confirmed to us in Christ. 

Matt. Why do the springs come from the sea to us 
through the earth? 

Prud. To show that the grace of God comes to us 
through the body of Christ. 

Matt. Why do some of the springs rise out of the 
tops of great hills ? 

Prud. To show that the spirit of grjp ^ shall spring 
up in some that are great and mighty, vs well as in 
many that are poor and low. 

Matt. Why doth the fire fasten up u the candle- 
wick ? 

Prud. To show that unless grace dot! i kindle upon 
the heart, there will be no true light of life in us. 

Matt. Why are the wick, and tallow, and all, spent 
to maintain the light of the candle? 

Prud. To show that body and soul, f nd all, should 
be at the service of, and spend themseh >s to maintain 
in good condition, that grace of God that \s in us. 

Matt. Why doth the pelican pierce Jr own breast 
with her bill ? 

Prud. To nourish her young ones Wv rh her blood, 
and thereby to show that Christ the blessed so loved 
His young (His people), as to save them from death 
by Hisblood- 

xviATT. What may one learn by hearing the cock to 
crow? 

Prud. Learn to remember Peter's sin, aT'd Peter's 
repentance. The cock's err wing shows, alse \hat day 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^33 

fs coming on. Let, then, the crowing of the cock put 
thee in mind of that last and terrible day of judgment. 

Now about this time their month was out ; where- 
fore they signified to those of the house, that it was con- 
venient for them to put up and be going. Then said 
Joseph to his mother, It is proper that you forget not 
to send to the house of Mr. Interpreter, to pray him to 
grant that Mr. Greatheart should be sent unto us, that 
he may be our conductor for the rest of the way. Good 
boy, said she, I had almost forgot. So she drew up a 
petition, and prayed Mr. Watchful, the porter, to send 
it by some fit man to her good friend Mr. Interpreter ; 
who, when it was come, and he had seen the contents 
of the petition, said to the messenger. Go, tell them 
that I will send him. 

When the family where Christiana was, saw that 
they had a purpose to go forward, they called the whole 
house together, to give thanks to their King for sending 
of them such profitable guests as these. Which done, 
they said unto Christiana, And shall we not show thee 
something, as our custom is to do to pilgrims, on which 
thou mayest meditate when thou art upon the way ? 
So they took Christiana, her children, and Mercy, into 
the closet, and showed them one of the apples that Eve 
ate of, and that she also did give to her husband, and 
that for the eating of which they were both turned out 
of paradise, and asked her what she thought that was. 
Then Christiana said. It is food or poison, I know not 
which. So they opened the matter to her, and she held 
up her hands and wondered. (Gen. 3:6; Rom. T : 24.) 

Then they had her to a place and showed her 
Jacob's ladder. (Gen. 28 : 12.) Now at that time there 
were some angels ascending upon it. So Christiana 
looked and looked to see the angels go up : so did the 
rest of the company. Then they were going into an* 



334 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGFtirS. 

other place, to show them something else , but Jamea 
said to his mother, Pray, bid them stay here a little 
longer, for this is a curious sight. So they turned 
again, and stood feeding their eyes with this so pleasing 
a prospect. 

After this, they had them into a place where did 
hang up a golden anchor. So they bid Christiana take 
it down ; for said they. You shall have it with you, for 
it is of absolute necessity that you should, that you may 
"lay hold of that within the veil (Heb. 6 : 19), and stand 
steadfast in case you should meet with turbulent 
weather. (Joel 3 : 16.) So tliey were glad thereof. 

Then they took them, and had them to the mount 
upon which Abraham our father offered up Isaac his 
son, and showed them the altar, the wood, the fire, and 
the knife ; for they remain to be seen to this ver}' day. 
(Gen. 22:9.) When they had seen i;;, they held up 
their hands, and blessed themselves, and said, Oh, what 
a man for love to his Master, and for denial to himself, 
was Abraham ! 

After they had showed them all these things. Pru- 
dence took them into a dining-room, where stood a pair 
of excellent virginals ;* so she played upon them, and 
turned what she had showed them into this excellent 



*' Eve's apple we have showed you ; 

Of that be you aware I 
You have seen Jacob's ladder, too, 

Upon which Angels are. 
An Anchor you received have ; 

But let not these suffice, 
Until with Abraham you have gave 

Your best a sacrifice." 

Now, about this time, one knocked at the door; so 

*• A musical instrument. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 335 

the Porter opened, and behold, Mr. Greatheart was 
there. But when lie was come in, what joy was there I 
for it came now afresh again into their minds, how but 
a while ago he had slain old Grim Bloodjman the giant, 
and had delivered them from the lions. 

Then said Mr. Greatheart to Christiana and to 
Mercy, My Lord has sent each of you a bottle of wine, 
and also some parched corn, together with a couple of 
pomegranates ; lie has also sent the boys some figs and 
raisins ; to refresh you in your way. 

Then they addressed themselves to their journey, 
and Prudence and Piety went along with them. When 
they came to the gate, Christiana asked the Porter if 
any late went by. He said, No; only one, some time 
since, who also told me, that of late there had been a 
great robbery committed on the King's highway as you 
go. But, said he, the thieves are taken, and will 
shortly be tried for their lives. Then Christiana and 
Mercy were afraid; but Matthew said, Mother, fear 
nothing, as long as Mr. Greatheart is to go with us, 
and to be our conductor. 

Then said Christiana to the Porter, Sir, I am much 
obliged to you for all the kindnesses that you have 
showed to me since I came hither ; and, also, for that 
you have been so loving and kind to my children. I 
know not how to gratify your kindness; wherefore, 
pray, as a token of my respect to you, accept of this 
small mite. So she put a gold angel * in his hand ; and 
he made her a low obeisance, and said, " Let thy gar- 
ments be always white ; and let thy head want no oint- 
ment." (Eccles. 9 : 8.) Let Mercy live and not die, 
and let not her works be few. (Deut. 33 : 6.) And to 

* A gold angel was a coin of the value of ten shillings sterling ; and, ac- 
cording to the comparative value of money in Bunyan's time, equal at least 
■Jo a guinea at the present time. 



336 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

the boys he said, Do you fly youthful lusts, and follow 
after godliness with them that are grave and wise (2 
Tim. 2 : 22) : so shall you put gladness into your 
mother's heart, and obtain praise of all that are sober- 
minded. So they thanked the Porter, and departed. 



THE FIFTH STAGE. 

Now I saw, in my dream, that they went forward 
until they were come to the brow of the hill ; where 
Piety, bethinking herself, cried out, Alas, I have forgot 
what I intended to bestow upon Christiana and her 
companions : I will go back and fetch it. So she ran 
and fetched it. While she was gone, Christiana thought 
she heard, in a grove a little way off on the right hand, 
a most curious melodious note, with words much like 
these : — 

*' Through all my life thy favor is 
So frankly show'd to me ; 
That in thy house for evermore 
My dwelling-place shall be." 

And listening still, she thought she heard anothei 
answer it, saying, — 

" For why ? The Lord our God is good \ 

His mercy is forever sure : 
His truth at all times firmly stood. 
And shall from age to age endure.'* 

So Christiana asked Prudence who it was that made 
those curious notes. (Song 2 : 11, 12.) They are, 
answered she, our country birds : they sing these notes 
but seldom, except it be at the spring, when the flowers 
appear, and the sun shines warm, and then you may 



THE PILGRIAPS PROGRESS, ^^j 

hear them all day long. I often, said she, go out to 
hear them : we also ofttimes keep them tame in our 
house. They are very fine company for us when we are 
melancholy: also, they make the woods, and groves, 
and solitary places, desirable to be in. 

By tills time Piety was come again. So she said to 
Christiana, Look here, I have brought thee a scheme of 
of all those things that thou hast seen at our house, 
upon which thou mayest look when thou findest thyself 
forgetful, and call those things again to remembrance 
for thy edification and comfort. 

Now they began to go down the hill into the Valley 
of Humiliation. It was a steep hill, and the way was 
slippery ; but they were very careful ; so they got down 
pretty well. When they were down in the valley, 
Piety said to Christiana, This is the place where Chris- 
tian, your husband, met with the foul fiend Apollyon, 
and where they had that dreadful fight that they had. 
I know you cannot but have heard thereof. But be of 
good courage; as long as you have here Mr. Great- 
heart to be your guide and conductor, we hope you will 
fare the better. So when these two had committed the 
pilgrims unto the conduct of their guide, he went 
forward, and they went after. 

Then said Mr. Greatheart, We need not be so afraid 
of this valley, for here is nothing to hurt us, unless we 
procure it to ourselves. It is true. Christian did here 
meet with Apollyon, with whom he also had a sore com- 
bat :^ but that fray was the fruit of those slips Avhich he 
got in his going down the hill ; for they that get slips 
there, must look for combats here. And hence it is, 
that this valley has got so hard a name. For the com- 
mon people, when they hear that some frightful thing 
has befallen such a one in such a place, are of opinion 
that that place is haunted with some foul fiend or evU 



338 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

spirit ; when, alas ! it is for the fruit of their own doing 
tliat such things do befall them there. This Valley of 
Humiliation is of itself as fruitful a place as any the 
crow flies over ; and I am persuaded, if we could hit 
upon it, we might find, somewhere hereabouts, some- 
thing that might give us an account why Christian was 
so hardly beset in this place. 

Then said James to his mother, Lo, 3'onder stands a 
pillar, and it looks as if something was written thereon ; 
let us go and see what it is. So they went, and found 
there written, " Let Christian's slips, before he came 
hither, and the battles that he met with in this place, 
be a warning to those that come after." Lo, said their 
guide, did not I tell you that there was something here- 
abouts that would give intimation of the reason why 
Christian was so hard beset in this place ? Then turn- 
ing himself to Christiana, he said. No disparagement to 
Christian more than to many others whose hap and lot 
it was. For it is easier going up than down this hill, 
and that can be said but of few hills in all these parts 
of the world. But we will leave the good man ; he is 
at rest : he also had a brave victory over his enemy* 
Let Him grant, that dwelleth above, that we fare no 
worse, when we come to be tried, than he. 

But we will come again to this Valley of Humilia- 
tion. It is the best and most fruitful piece of ground 
in all these parts. It is fat ground, and, as you see, 
consisteth much in meadows ; and if a man was to come 
here in the summer-time, as we do now, if he knew 
not anything before thereof, and if he also delighted 
himself in the sight of his eyes, he might see that which 
would be delightful to him. Behold how green this 
valley is ; also, how beautiful with lilies. (Song 2 : 1.) 
I have known many laboring men that have got good 
estates in this Valley of Humiliation ; for God resistetb 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 33^ 

the proud, but giveth grace to the humble. (James 
4 : 6 ; 1 Pet. 5 : 5.) Indeed, it is a very fruitful soil, 
and doth bring forth by handfuLs. Some also have 
wished that the next way to their Father's house were 
here, that they might be troubled no more with either 
hills or mountains to go over ; but the way is the way 
and there is an end. 

Now, as they were going along and talking, they 
espied a boy feeding his father's sheep. The boy was 
in very mean clothes, but of a fresh and well-favored 
countenance ; and as he sat by himself, he sung. Hark, 
said Mr. Greatheart, to what the shepherd's boy saitb. 
»So they hearkened, and he said, — 

•* He that is down need fear no fall ; 
He that is low no pride ; 
He that is humble ever shall 
Have God to be his guide. 

•• I am content with what I have. 
Little be it or much ; 
And, Lord I contentment still I crave. 
Because thou savest such. 

•* Fullness to such a burden is. 
That go on pilgrimage : 
Here little, and hereafter bliss, 
Is best from age to age." 

Then said the guide, Do you hear him ? I will dare 
to say this boy lives a merrier life, and wears more of 
that herb called heart's-ease in his bosom, than he that 
is clad in silk and velvet. But we will proceed in our 
discourse. 

In this valley our Lord formerly had his country 
house : he loved much to be here. He loved also to 
walk these meadows, for he found the air was pleasant. 
Besides, here a man shall be free from the noise, and 



34© THE PTLGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

from the hurryings of this life: all states are full ot 
noise and confusion ; only the Valley of Humiliation is 
that empty and solitary place. Here a man shall not 
be so let and hindered in his contemplation as in other 
places he is apt to be. This is a valley that nobody 
walks in but those that love a pilgrim's life. And 
though Christian had the hard hap to meet here with 
Apollyon, and to enter with him in a brisk encounter^ 
yet I must tell you, that in former times men have met 
with angels here (Hos. 12: 4, 5), have found pearls 
here (Matt. 13 : 46), and have in this place found the 
words of life. 

Did I say our Lord had here in former days his 
countr5^-house, and that he loved here to walk ? I will 
add — in this place, and to the people that love and 
trace these grounds, he has left a yearly revenue, to be 
faithfully paid them at certain seasons, for their main- 
tenance by the way, and for their further encourage 
ment to go on in their pilgrimage. 

Now, as they went on, Samuel said to Mr. Great- 
heart, Sir, I perceive that in this valley my father and 
Apollyon had their battle ; but whereabout was the 
fight? for I perceive this valley is large. 

Great. Your father had the battle with Apollyon 
at a place yonder before us, in a narrow passage, just 
beyond Forgetful Green. And indeed that place is the 
most dangerous place in all these parts. For if at an}^ 
time pilgrims meet with any brunt, it is when they for- 
get what favors they have received, and how unworthy 
they are of them. This is the place, also, where others 
have been hard put to it. But more of the place when 
we are come to it ; for I persuade myself that to this 
day there remains either some sign of the battle, or 
some monument to testify that such a battle there was 
mierht. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 341 

Then said Mercy, I think I am as well in this valley 
as I have been anywhere else in all our journey : the 
place, methinks, suits with my spirit. I love to be in 
such places, where there is no rattling with coaches, 
nor rumbling with wheels. Methinks, here one may, 
without much molestation, be thinking what he is, 
whence he came, what he has done, and to what the 
King has called him. Here one may think, and break 
at heart, and melt in one's spirit, until one's eyes be- 
come as the fish-pools of Heshbon. (Song 7 : 4.) They 
that go rightly through this valley of Baca, make it a 
well ; the rain that God sends down from heaven upon 
them that are here, also filleth the pools. This valley 
is that from whence also the King will give to his 
their vineyards ; and they that go through it shall 
sing, as Christian did, for all he met with Apollyon. 
(Psalm 84: 4-7; Hos. 2:15.) 

'Tis true, said their guide ; I have gone through 
this valley many a time, and never was better than 
when here. I have also been a conductor to several 
pilgrims, and they have confessed the same. " To this 
man will I look," saith the King, " even to him that is 
poor, and of a contrite spirit, and trembleth at my 
word." (Isa. %^ : 2.) 

Now they were come to the place where the afore- 
mentioned battle was fought. Then said the guide to 
Christiana, her children, and Mercy, This is the place ; 
on this ground Christian stood, and up there came 
Apollyon against him. And, look, did I not tell you? 
here is some of your husband's blood upon these stones 
to this day. Behold, also, how here and there are 
yet to be seen upon the place, some of the shivers of 
Apollyon's broken darts. See, also, how they did beat 
the ground with their feet as they fought, to make good 
their places against each other ; how also with their 



342 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

by-blows they did split the very stones in pieces. 
VeriJy, Christian did here play the man, and showed 
himself as stout as Hercules could, had he been here, 
even he himself. When Apollyon was beat, he made 
his retreat to the next valley, that is called the Valley 
of the Shadow of Death, unto which we shall come 
anon. Lo, yonder also stands a monument, on which 
is engraven this battle, and Christian's victory, to his 
fame throughout all ages. So, because it stood just on 
the wayside before them, they stepped to it, and read 
the writing, which, word for word, was this : — 

** Hard by here was a battle fought, 
Most strange, and yet most true ; 
Christian and Apollyon sought 
Each other to subdue. 

*• The man so bravely play'd the man, 
He made the fiend to fly ; 
Of which a monument I stand, 
The same to testify." 

When they had passed by this place, they came 
upon the borders of the Shadow of Death. This valley 
was longer than the other ; a place also most strangely 
haunted with evil things, as many are abb to testify. 
But these women and children went the better through 
it, because they had daylight, and because Mr. Great- 
heart was their conductor. 

When they were entering upon this valley, they 
thought they heard a groaning, as of dying men ; a 
very great groaning. They thought also that tliey did 
hear words of lamentation, spoken as of some in ex- 
treme torment. These things made the boys to quake ; 
the women also looked pale and wan ; but their £,^uide. 
bid them be of Q:ood comfort. 

^M they went on a little farther, and they thoughi 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 343 

that they felt the ground begin to shake under them, 
as if some hollow place was there. They heard also a 
kind of hissing, as of serpents, but nothing as yet ap- 
peared. Then said the boys, Are we not yet at the 
end of this doleful place ? But the guide also bid them 
be of good courage, and look well to their feet; lest 
haply, said he, you be taken in some snare. 

Now James began to be sick ; but I think the cause 
thereof was fear: so his mother gave him some of that 
glass of spirits that had been given her at the Inter- 
preter's house, and three of the pills that Mr. Skill had 
prepared, and the boy began to revive. Thus they 
went on till they came to about the middle of the val- 
ley ; and then Christiana said, Methinks I see something 
yonder upon the road before us, a thing of a shape such 
as I have not seen. Then said Joseph, Mother, what 
is it? An ugly thing, child, an ugly thing, said she. 
But, mother, what is it like ? said he. 'Tis like I can- 
Dot tell what, said she ; and now it is but a little way 
off. Then said she, It is nigh. 

Well, well, said Mr. Greatheart, let them that are 
most afraid keep close to me. So the fiend came on, 
and the conductor met it ; but when it was come to 
him, it vanished to all their sights. Then remembered 
they what had been said some time ago : '' Eesist the 
devil, and he will flee from you." (James 4 : 7.) 

They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed. 
But they had not gone far, before Mercy, looking be- 
hind her, saw, as she thought, something most like a 
lion, and it came at a great padding pace after : and it 
had a holloAV voice of roaring ; and at every roar it 
gave, it made the valley echo, and all their hearts to 
ache, save the heart of him that was their guide. So it 
came up and Mr. Greatheart went behind, and put the 
l^ilo^rims all before him. The lion also came on apacoj 



<^4 ?'^^ PILGRfArS PROGRESS. 

and Mr. Greatheart addressed himself to give him uattle. 
(1 Pet. 5 : 8, 9.) But when he saw that it was deter- 
mined that resistance should be made, he also drew 
back, and came no farther. 

Then they went on again, and their conductor went 
before them, till they came to a place where was cast 
up a pit the whole breadth of the way ; and before they 
could be prepared to go over that, a great mist and a 
darkness fell upon them, so that they could not see. 
Then said the pilgrims, Alas I what now shall we do ? 
But their guide made answer. Fear not ; stand still, and 
see what an end will be put to this also. So they stayed 
there, because their path was marred. They then also 
thought that they did hear more apparently the noise 
and rushing of the enemies: the fire, also, and the 
smoke of the pit were much easier to be discerned. 
Then said Christiana to Mercy, Now I see what my 
poor husband went through. I have heard much of 
this place, but I never was here before now. Poor 
man ! he went here all alone in the night; he had night 
almost quite through the way ; also, these fiends were 
busy about him, as if they would have torn him in 
pieces. Many have spoken of it : but none can tell 
what the valley of the Shadow of Death should mean 
until they come in it themselves. The heart knoweth 
its own bitterness ; and a stranger intermeddleth not 
with its joy. (Prov. 14 ; 10.) To be here is a fearful 
thing. 

Great. This is like doing business in great waters, 
or like going down into the deep. This is like being 
in the heart of the sea, and like going down to the 
bottoms of the mountains. Now, it seems as if the 
earth, with its bars, were about us forever. But let 
them that walk in darkness, and have no light, trust 
in the name of the Lord, and stay upon their God 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 34» 

(Isa. 50 : 10.) For my part, as I have told you already, 
I have gone often through this valley, and have been 
much harder put to it than now I am : and yet you see 
I am alive. I would not boast, for that I am not my 
own saviour ; but I trust we shall have a good deliver- 
ance. Come, let us pray for light to Him that can 
lighten our darkness, and that can rebuke not only 
these, but all the Satans in hell. 

So they cried and prayed, and God sent light and 
deliverance, for there was now no let in their way ; no, 
not there where but now they were stopped with a pit. 
Yet they were not got through the valley. So they 
went on still, and met with great sticks and loathsome 
smells, to the great annoyance of them. Then said 
Mercy to Christiana, It is not so pleasant being here 
as at the gate, or at the Interpreter's, or at the house 
where we lay last. 

Oh, but, said one of the boys, it is not so bad to go 
through here, as it is to abide here always ; and, for 
aught I know, one reason why we must go this way to 
the house prepared for us, is, that our home might be 
made the sweeter to us. 

Well said, Samuel, quoth the guide ; thou hast now 
spoke like a man. Why, if ever I get out here again, 
said the boy, I think I shall prize light and good way 
bettp.r than I ever did in all my life. Then said the 
guide. We shall be out by and by. 

So on they went, and Joseph said. Can not we see 
to the end of this valley as yet ? Then said the guide, 
Look to your i^^i, for we shall presently be among the 
snares. So they looked to their feet, and went on ; but 
they were troubled much with the snares. Now, when 
they were come among the snares, they espied a man 
cast into the ditch on the left hand, with his flesh all 
rent and torn. Then said the ^uide. That is one Heed^ 



346 THE FILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

less, that was going this way : he has lain there a great 
while. There was one Takeheed with him when he 
was taken and slain, but he escaped their hands. You 
can not imagine how many are killed hereabouts ; and 
yet men are so foolishly venturous as to set out lightly 
on pilgrimage, and to come without a guide. Poor 
Christian ! It was a wonder that he here escaped: but 
he was beloved of his God. Also, he had a good heart 
of his own, or else he could never have done it. 

Now they drew towards the end of this way ; and 
just there where Christian had seen the cave when he 
went by, out thence came forth Maul, a giant. This 
Maul did use to spoil young pilgrims with sophistry ; 
and he called Greatheart by his name, and said unto 
him, How many times have you been forbidden to do 
these things ? Then said Mr. Greatheart, What things ? 
What things ! quoth the giant ; you know what things : 
but I will put an end to your trade. 

But, pray, said Mr. Greatheart, before we fall to it, 
let us understand wherefore we must fight. Now the 
women and children stood trembling, and knew not 
what to do. Quoth the giant, You rob the country, 
and rob it with the worst of thefts. These are but gen- 
erals, said Mr. Greatheart ; come to particulars, man. 

Then said the giant, Thou practisest the craft of a 
kidnapper : thou gatherest up women and children, and 
earnest them into a strange country, to the weakening 
of my master's kingdom. But now Greatheart replied, 
I am a servant of the God of heaven : my business is to 
persuade sinners to repentance. I am commanded to 
do my endeavors to turn men, women, and children, 
from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan 
unto God ; and if this be indeed the ground of thy 
quarrel, let us ftill to it as soon as thou wilt. 

Then the giant came up, and Mr. Greatheart went 



THh PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^^y 

to meet him; and as he went he drew his s^ford, l)i:t 
the giant had a club. So, without more ado, they fell 
to it, and at the first blow the giant sti'uck Mr. Great- 
heixrt down upon one of his knees. With that the 
women and children cried out. So Mr. Greatheart re- 
covering himself, laid about him in full lusty manner, 
and gave the giant a wound on his arm. Thus he 
fought for the space of an honr, to tliat height of heat 
tliat the breath came out of the giant's nostrils as the 
heat doth out of a boiling caldron. 

Then they sat do\\^n to rest them; but Mr. Great- 
heart betook himself to prayer Also, the women and 
childj-en did nothing but sigh and cry all the time that 
the battle did last. 

When they had rested them, and taken breath, they 
both fell to it again : and Mr. Greatheart, with a blow, 
fetched the giant down to the ground. Nay, hold, let 
me recover, quoth he : so Mr. Greatheart fairly let him 
get up. So to it they went again, and the giant missed 
but little of all to breaking Mr. Greatheart's skull with 
his club. 

Mr. Greatheart seeing that, runs to him in the full 
heat of his spirit, and pierceth him under the fifth rib. 
With that the giant began to faint, and could hold up 
his club no longer. Then Mr. Greatheart seconded his 
blow, and smit the head of the giant from his shoulders. 
Then the women and children rejoiced, and Mr. Great- 
heart also praised God for the deliverance He had 
wrought. 

Vv^hen this was done, they amongst them erected a 
pillar, and fastened the giant's head thereon, and wrote 
under in letters that passengers might read, — 

** He that did wear this head was on© 
That pilgrims did iDisnse \ 



.548 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

He stopped their way, he spared nono» 
He did them all abuse ; 

Until that I, Greatheart, arose. 
The pilgrim's guide to be ; 

Until that I did him oppose 
That was their enemy." 



THE SIXTH STAGE. 



Now I saw that they went on to the ascent that was 
a little way off, cast up to be a prospect for pilgrims. 
That was the place from whence Christian had the first 
sight of Faithful, his brother. Wherefore, here they 
sat down and rested. They also here did eat and drink, 
and make merry, for that they had gotten deliverance 
from this so dangerous an enemy. As they sat thus 
and did eat, Christiana asked the guide if he had caught 
no hurt in the battle. Then said Mr. Greatheart, No, 
save a little on my flesh : yet that also shall be so far 
from being to my detriment, that it is at present a proof 
of my love to my master and you, and shall be a means 
by gi-ace, to increase my reward at last. 

Chr. But were you not afraid, good sir, when you 
saw him come with his club ? 

Great. It is my duty, said he, to mistrust my ow,^ 
ability, that I may have reliance on Him who is strongex 
than all. 

Chr. But what did you think when he fetched you 
down to the ground at the first blow? 

Great. Why, I thought, quoth he, that so my Mas- 
ter Himself was served, and yet He it was that con- 
quered at last. (2 Cor. 4: 10, 11 ; Rom. 8 : 37.) 

Matt. When you all have thought what you please. 



IHE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 34^ 

I think God has been wonderfully good unto us, both 
in bringing us out of this valley, and in delivering us 
out of the hand of this enemy. For m}^ part, I see no 
reason why we should distrust our God any more, since 
He has now, and in such a place as this, given us such 
testimony of His love. Then they got up, and went 
forward. 

Now a little before them stood an oak ; and under 
it, when they came to it, they found an old pilgrim fast 
asleep. They knew that he was a pilgrim by his 
clothes, and his staff, and his girdle. 

So the guide, Mr. Greatheart, awaked him ; and the 
old gentleman, as he lifted up his eyes, cried out, What's 
the matter? Who are you ; and what is 3^our business 
here ? 

Great. Come, man, be not so hot ; here are none 
but friends. 

Yet the old man gets up, and stands upon his guard, 
and will know of them what they are. Then said the 
guide, My name is Greatheart. I am the guide of these 
pilgrims that are going to the Celestial Country. 

Then said Mr. Honest, I cry you mercy. I feared 
that you had been of the company of those that some 
time ago did rob Littlefaith of his money; but, now I 
look better about me, I perceive you are honester 
people. 

Great. Why, what would or could j^ou have done 
to have helped yourself, if indeed we had been of that 
com pany ? 

Hon. Done ! Why, I would have fought as long as 
breath had been in me. And, had I so done, I am sure 
you could never have given me the worst on't; for a 
Christian can never be overcome, unless he shall 'ield 
of himself. 

Well said. Father Honest, auoth the ^uide: for bv 



350 THE PILGRIM'S PROGKESi>. 

this I know thou art a cock of the right kind, for thou 
hast said the truth. 

Hon. And by this, also, I know that thou knowest 
vhat true pilgrimage is ; for all others do think that 
?e are the soonest overcome of any. 

Great. Well, now we are so happily met, pray, let 
Sne crave your name, and the name of the place you 
)ame from. 

Hon. My name I cannot tell you -- but, I came from 
the town of Stupidity. It lieth about four degrees be- 
rond the city of Destruction. 

Great. Oh, are you that countryman? Then 1 
leem 1 have half a guess of you. Your name is Old 
'ionesty, is it not ? 

So the old gentleman blushed, and said. Not honesty 
:.n the abstract, but Honest is my name; and I wish 
that my nature may agree to what I am called. But, 
rir, said the old gentleman, how could you guess that 
I am such a man, since I came from such a place ? 

Great. I had heard of you before, by my Master ; 
ifor He knows all things that are done on the earth. 
But I have often wondered that any should come from 
your place ; for your town is worse than is the city of 
Destruction itself. 

Hon. Yes, we lie more oft from the sun, and so are 
more cold and senseless. But w^ere a man in a moun- 
tain of ice, yet if the Sun of Righteousness will arise 
upon him, his frozen heart shall feel a thaw ; and thus 
ic has been wdth me. 

Great. I believe it. Father Honest, I believe it; for 
X know the thing is true. 

Then the old gentleman saluted all the pilgrims 
Trith a holy kiss of charity, and asked them their names, 
rnd how they had fared since they set out on their pil- 
grimage. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



351 



Then said Christiana, My name T suppose you have 
heard of; good Christian was my husband, and thes3 
four are his children. 

But can you think how the old gentleman was taken, 
when she told him who she was? He skipped, he 
smiled, he blessed them with a thousand good wishes, 
saying,— 

Hon. I have heard much of your husband, and of 
}?js travels and wars which he underwent in his days. 
Be -T spoken tG your comfort, the name of your husband 
rings all over these parts of the world. His faith, his 
(3 0urage, his enduring, and his sincerity under all, have 
made his name famous. Then he turned him to the 
boys, and asked them of their names, which they told 
him. Then said he unto them, Matthew, be thou like 
Matthew the publican, not in vice, but in virtue. (Matu 
10: 3.) Samuel, said he, be thou like Samuel the pro- 
phet, a man of faith and prayer. (Psalm 99 : 6.) Joseph, 
said he, be thou like Joseph 'i> P »tiphar's house, chaste, 
and one that flees from temptation. (Gen. 39.) And 
James, be thou like James the iust, and like James the 
brother of our Lord. (Acts 1 : IH, 14.) 

Then they told him of Mjrcy, and how sue had left 
her town and her kindred to come along with Chris- 
tiana and with her sons. At that tiie old honest man 
said, Mercy is thy name ; by ru.^coy shalt thou be sus- 
tained and carried through all those difficulties that 
shall assault thee in thy way, till thou shalt come 
thither where thou shalt look the Fountain of Mercy 
in the face with comfort. All this while the guide, 
Mr. Greatheart, was very well pleased, and smiled upon 
his companions. 

Now. as they walked along together, the guide 
asked the old gentleman if he did not know one Mr» 
Fearing, that came on pilgrimage out of his parts- 



3^2 i^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Yes, very well, said he. He was a man that had the 
root of the matter in him ; but he was one of the most 
troublesome pilgrims that ever I met with in all my days 

Great. I perceive you knew him, for you have 
given a very right character of him. 

Hon. Knew him ! I was a great comDanion of his ; 
I was with him most an end ; wheiv he first began to 
think upon what would come upon us *iereafter, I was 
with him. 

Great. I was his guide from my master's house tc 
the gates of the Celestial City. 

Hon. Then you knew him to be a troublesome one. 

Great. I did so ; but I could very well bear it ; for 
men of my calling are oftentimes intrusted with the 
conduct of such as he was. 

Hon. Well, then, pray let us hear a little of him, 
and how he managed himself under your conduct. 

Great. Why, he was always afraid that he should 
come short of whither he had a desire to go. Every- 
thing frightened him that he heard anybody speak of, 
if it had but the least appearance of opposition in it. I 
heard that he lay roaring at the Slough of Despond for 
above a month together ; nor durst he, for all he saw 
several go over before him, venture, though they, many 
of them, offered to lend him their hands. He would 
not go back again, neither. The Celestial City — he 
said he should die if he came not to it ; and yet he was 
dejected at every difficulty, and stumbled at every straw 
that anybody cast in his way. Well, after he had lain 
at the Slough of Despond a great while, as I have told 
you, one sunshiny morning, I don't know how, he ven- 
tured, and so got over ; but when he was over, he would 
scarce believe it. He had, I think, a Slough of Despond 
in his mind, a slough that he carried everywhere with 
him, or else he could never have been as he was. So 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 3.3 

he came up to the gate, you know what I mean, that 
stands at the head of this way, and there, also, he stood 
a great while before he would venture to knock. When 
the gate was opened, he would give back, and give 
place to others, and say that he was not worthy. For, 
for all he got before some to the gate, yet many of 
them went in before him. There the poor man would 
stand shaking and shrinking ; I dare say it would have 
pitied on.-'s heart to have seen him. Nor would he go 
back again. At last he took the hammer that hanged 
on the gate in his hand, and gave a small rap or two ; 
then one opened to him, but he shrunk back as before. 
He that opened stepped out after him, and said, Thou 
trembling one, what wantest thou? With that he fell 
down to the ground. He that spoke to him wondered 
to see him so faint, so he said to him. Peace be to thee ; 
up, for I have set open the door to thee ; come in, for 
thou art blessed. With that he got up, and went in 
trembling ; and when he was in, he was ashamed to 
show his face. Well, after he had been entertained 
there a while, as you know how the manner is, he was 
bid go on his way, and also told the way he should 
take. So he went on till he came to our house ; but as 
he behaved himself at the gate, so he did at my master 
the Interpreter's door. He lay thereabout in'^the cold 
a good while, before he would adventure to call ; yet he 
would not go back : and the nights were long and cold 
t^en. Nay, he had a note of necessity in his bosom to 
my master to receive him, and grant him the comfort of 
his house, and also to allow him a stout and valiant 
conductor, because he was himself so chicken-hearted 
a man ; and yet, for all that, he was afraid to call at 
the door. So he lay up and down thereabouts, till, 
poor man, he was almost starved ; yea, so great was his 
dejection, that though he saw several others, for knock- 



35 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGKhS^. 



ing, get in, yet he was afraid to venture. At last, I 
think, T looked out of the window ; and perceiving a 
man to be up and down about the door, I went out to 
him, and asked what he was ; but, poor man, the water 
stood in his eyes ; so I perceived what he wanted. I 
went therefore in, and told it in the house, and we 
showed the thing to our Lord : so he sent me out again, 
to entreat him to come in ; but, I dare say, I had hard 
work to do it. At last he came in : and I will say that 
for my Lord, he carried it wonderfully lovingly to him. 
There were but a few good bits at the table, but some 
of it was laid upon his trencher. Then he presented 
the note; and my Lord looked thereon, and said his 
desire should be granted. So, when he had been there 
a good while, he seemed to get some heart, and to be a 
little more comfortable. For my master, you must 
know, is one of very tender bowels, especially to them 
that are afraid ; wherefore he carried it so towards him 
as might tend most to his encouragement. Well, when 
he had had a sight of the things of the place, and was 
ready to take his journey to go to the city, my Lord, 
as he did to Christian before, gave him a bottle ol 
spirits, and some comfortable things to eat. Thus we 
set forward, and I went before him ; but the man was 
but of few words, only he would sigh aloud. 

When we were come to where the three fellows 
were hanged, he said that he doubted that that would 
be his end also. Only he seemed glad when he saw the 
cross and sepulchre. There, I confess, he desired to 
stay a little to look ; and he seemed for a while after to 
be a little cheery. When he came to the hill Difficulty, 
he made no stick at that, nor did he much fear the 
lions ; for you must know, that his troubles were not 
about such things as these ; his fear was about his ac- 
ceptance at lasto 



THE PILGRnrs PROGRESS. 3^^ 

i got him at the house Beautiful, I think, before he 
was willing. Also, when he was in, I brought him ac- 
quainted with the damsels of the place ; but he was 
ashamed to make himself much in company. He de- 
sired much to be alone ; yet he always loved good talk, 
and often would get beliind the screen to hear it. He 
also loved much to see ancient things, and to be ponder- 
ing them in his mind. He told me afterwards, that he 
loved to be in those two houses from which he came 
last, to wit, at the gate, and that of the Interpreter, but 
that he durst not be so bold as to ask. 

When w^e went also from the house Beautiful, down 
the hill, into the Valley of Humiliation, he w*^nt down 
as well as ever I saw a man in my life , for he cared 
not how mean he was, so he might be happ}^ at last. 
Yea, I think there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that 
valley and him ; for I never saw him better in all his 
pilgrimage than he was in that valley. 

Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and 
kiss the very flowers that grew in this valley. (Lam. 
3 : 27-29.) He would now be up every morning by 
break of da3% tracing and walking to and fro in the 
valley. 

But when he was come to the entrance of the Val- 
ley of the Shadow of Death, I thought I should have 
lost my man : not for that he had any inclination to go 
back ; that he always abhorred ; but he was ready to 
die for fear. Oh, the hobgoblins will have me ! the 
hobgoblins will have me ! cried he ; and I could not 
beat him out of it. He made such a noise, and such an 
outcry here, that had they but heard him, it was enough 
to encourage them to come and fall upon us. 

But this I took very great notice of, that this valley 
was as quiet when we went through it, as ever I knew 
it before or since. I suppose those enemies here had 



356 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

now a special check from our Lord, and a command not 
to meddle until Mr. Fearing had passed over it. 

It would be too tedious to tell you all : we will 
therefore only mention a passage or two more. When 
he was come to Vanity Fair, I thought he would have 
fought with all the men in the fair. I feared there we 
should have been knocked on the head, so hot was he 
against the fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he 
was very wakeful. But when he was come at the river 
where was no bridge, there again he was in a heavy 
case. Now, now, he said, he should be drowned for- 
ever, and so never see that face with comfort that he 
had come so many miles to behold. 

And here also I took notice of what was very re- 
markable : the water of that river was lower at this 
time than ever I saw it in all my life. So he went over 
at last, not much above wetshod. When he was going 
up to the gate, I began to take leave of him, and to 
wish him a good reception above. So he said, I shall, 
I shall. Then parted we asunder, and I saw him no 
more. 

Hon. Then it seems he was well at last ? 

Great. Yes, yes ; I never had doubt about him. He 
was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept 
very low; and that made his life so burdensome to him- 
self, and so troublesome to others. (Psalm 88.) He 
was, above many, tender of sin : he was so afraid of 
doing injuries to others, that he often would deny him- 
self of that which was lawful, because he would not 
offend. (Rom. 14 : 21 ; 1 Cor. 8 : 13.) 

Hon. But what should be the reason that such a 
good man should be all his days so much in the dark ? 

Great. There are two sorts of reasons for it. One 
is, the wise God will have it so : some must pipe, and 
some must weep. (Matt. 11 : 16.) Now Mr. Fearing 



THE PIL G RIM'S PROGRESS. 357 

was one that played upon the bass. He and his fellows 
sound the sackbut, whose notes are more doleful than 
the notes of other music are : though indeed, some say, 
the bass is the ground of music. And for my part, I 
care not at all for that profession which begins not in 
ieaviness of mind. The first string that the musician 
usually touches is the bass, when he intends to put all 
in tune. God also plays upon this string first, when 
He sets the soul in tune for himself. Only there was 
the imperfection of Mr. Fearing : he could play upon 
no other music but this till towards his latter end. 

[I make bold to talk thus metapliorically for the 
ripening of the wits of young readers, and because, in 
the book of Revelation, the saved are compared to a 
company of musicians, that play upon their trumpets 
and harps, and sing their songs before the throne. 
Rev. 5 : 8 ; 14 : 2, 3.] 

Hon. He was a very zealous man, as one may see 
by the relation which you have given of him. Difficul- 
ties, lions, or Vanity Fair, he feared not at all. It was 
only sin, death, and hell, that were to him a terror, be- 
cause he had some doubts about his interest in that 
Celestial Country. 

Gkeat. You say right. Those were the things that 
were his troublers ; and they, as you have well ob- 
served, arose from the weakness of his mind thereabout, 
not from weakness of spirit as to the practical part of a 
pilgrim's life. I dare believe that, as the proverb is, he 
could have bit a firebrand, had it stood in his way ; but 
the things with which he was oppressed, no man ever 
yet could shake off with ease. 

Then said Christiana, This relation of Mr. Fearing 
has done me good. I thought nobody had been like 
me ; but I see there was some semblance betwixt this 
good man and me ; only we differed in two things. His 



358 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

troubles were so great that they broke out ; but mine 
I kept within. His also lay so hard upon him they 
made him that he could not knock at the houses pro» 
vided for entertainment ; but my trouble was always 
such as made me knock the louder. 

Mer. If I might also speak my heart, I must say 
that something of him has also dwelt in me. For I have 
«ver been more afraid of the lake, and the loss of a 
place in Paradise, than I have been of the loss of other 
things. O, thought I, may I liave the happiness to have 
a habitation there ! 'Tis enough, though I part with 
all the world to win it. 

Then said Matthew, Fear was one thing that made 
me think that I was far from having that within me 
which accompanies salvation. But if it was so with 
such a good man as he, why may not it also go Wijll 
with me ? 

No fears no grace, said James. Though there is not 
always grace where there is the fear of hell, yet, to be 
sure, there is no grace where there is no fear of God. 

Great. Well said, James ; thou hast hit the mark. 
For the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom ; and, 
to be sure, they that want the beginning, have neither 
middle nor end. But we will here conclude our dis- 
cour^^e of Mr. Fearing, after we have sent after him this 
farewell. 

•• Well, Master Fearing, thou didst fear 
Thy God, and wast afraid 
Of doing anything, while here, 

That would have thee betrayed. 
And didst thou fear the lake and pit ? 

Would others do so too ! 
For as for them that want thy wit, 
They do themselves undo." 

Now I saw that thev still went on in their talk. 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 

For after Mr. Greatheart had made an end with Mr. 
Fearing, Mr. Honest began to tell them of another, but 
his name was Mr. Selfwill. He pretended himself to 
be a pilgrim, said Mr. Honest; but J persuade myself 
he never came in at the gate that stands at the head of 
the way. 

Great. Had you ever any talk with him about it? 
Hon. Yes; more than once or twice; but he would 
always be like himself, self-willed. He neither cared 
lor man, nor argument, nor yet example. What his 
mmd prompted him to, that he would do, and nothing 
else could he be got to do. 

Great. Pray, what principles did he hold ? for I 
suppose you can tell. 

Hon. He held that a man might follow the vices a^ 
well as the virtues of pilgrims ; and that if he did both, 
hn should be certainly saved. 

Great. How ? If he had said, it is possible for the 
best to be guilty of the vices, as well as to partake of 
thfi virtues of pilgrims, he could not much have been 
blamed ; for, indeed, we are exempted from no vice ab- 
solutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. 
But this, I perceive, is not the thing ; but if I under, 
stand you right, your meaning is, that he was of opin- 
ion that it was allowable so to be. 

Hox. Aye, aye ; so I mean, and so he believed and 
practised. 

Great. But what grounds had he for his so saying? 
Hon. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his 
warrant. 

Great. Prithee, Mr. Honest, present us with a few 
particulars. 

Hon. So I will. He said, to have to do with other 
men's wives had been practiced by David, God's be- 
loved ; and therefore hf could do it. He said, to have 



26o THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

more women than one was a thing that Solomon prac- 
ticed, and therefore he could do it. He said, that 
Sarah and the godly mid wives of Egypt lied, and so 
did saved Rahab, and therefore he could do it. He 
said that the disciples went at the bidding of their 
Master, and took away the owner's ass, and therefore 
he could do so too. He said, that Jacob got the inher- 
itance of his father in a way of guile and dissimulation, 
and therefore he could do so too. 

Great. High base, indeed ! And are you sure he 
was of this opinion ? 

Hon. I heard him plead for it, bring Scripture for 
it, bring arguments for it, &c. 

Great. An opinion that is not fit to be with any 
allowance in the world ! 

Hon. You must understand me rightly. He did not 
say that any man might do this ; but that they who had 
the virtues of those that did such things, might also do 
tlie same. 

Great. But what more false than such a conclusion? 
For this is as much as to say, that because good men 
heretofore have sinned of infirmity, therefore he had 
allowance to do it of a presumptuous mind ; or that if, 
because a child, by the blast of the wind, or for that it 
stumbled at a stone, fell down and defiled itself in the 
mire, therefore he might wilfully lie down aad wallow 
like a boar therein. Who could have thought that any 
one could so have been blinded by the power of lust ? 
But what is written must be true : they " stumble at 
^Iie word, being disobedient ; whereunto also they were 
apDomted." (1 Pet. 2 : 8.) His supposing that such 
mav nave the godly men's virtues, who addict them* 
selves to their vices, is also a delusion as strong as the 
other. To eat up the sin of God's people (Hos. 4 : 8) 
fts a dog eats up filth, is no sign that one is possessed 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 36 1 

with their virtues. Nor can I believe that one who is 
of this opinion can at present have faith or love in him. 
But I know you have made strong objections against 
him. Prithee, what can he say for himself ? 

Hon. Why, he says to do this by way of opinion, 
seems abundantly more honest than to do it, and yet 
hold contrary to it in opinion. 

Great. A very wicked answer. For though to let 
loose the bridle to lusts, while our opinions are against 
such things, is bad ; yet, to sin, and plead a toleration 
so to do, is worse : the one stumbles beholders accidents 
ally, the other leads them into the snare. 

Hon. There are many of thiy man's mind, that have 
not this man's mouth ; and that makes going on pil- 
grimage of so little esteem as it is. 

Great. You have said the truth, and it is to be la- 
mented : but he that feareth the King of Paradise shall 
come out of them all. 

Chr. There are strange opinions in the world. I 
know one that said, it was time enough to repent when 
«re come to die. 

Great. Such are not over wise : that man would 
have been loath, might he have had a week to run 
twenty miles in his life, to defer his journey to the last 
hour of that week. 

Hon. You say right; and yet the generality of them 
who count themselves pilgrims do indeed do thus. I 
am, as you see, an old man, and have been a traveller in 
this road many a day , and I have taken notice of many 
things. 

I have seen some that have set out as if they would 
Jrive all the world before them, who yet have, in a 
% few days, died as they in the wilderness, and so never 
got sight of the promised land. I have seen some that 
have promised nothing at first setting out to be pilgrims. 



362 THE PJL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 

and who one would have thought could not have lived 
a day, that have yet proved very good pilgrims. I have 
seen some who have run hastily forward, that again 
have, after a little time, run just as fast back again. I 
have seen some who have spoken very well of a pil- 
^ I's life at first, that after a while have spoken as 

..h against it. I have heard some, when they first 
^et out for Paradise, say positively, there is such a 
place, who, when they have been almost there, have 
come back again, and said there is none. I have heard 
some vaunt what they would do in case they should be 
opposed, that have, even at a false alarm, fled faith, the 
pilgrim's way, and all. 

Now, as they were thus on their way, there came 
one running to meet them, and said. Gentlemen, and 
you of the weaker sort, if you love life, shift for your 
selves, for the robbers are before you. 

Then said Mr. Greatheart, They be the three that 
set upon Littlefaith heretofore. Well, said he^ we are 
ready for them. So they went on their way. Now 
they looked at every turning when they should have 
met with the villains ; but whether they heard of Mr. 
Greatheart, or whether they had some other game, they 
came not up to the pilgrims. 

Christiana then wished for an inn to refresh herself 
and her children, because they were weary. Then said 
Mr. Honest, There is one a little before us, where a 
very honorable disciple, one Gains, dwells. (Rom. 16 : 
23.) So they all concluded to turn in thither ; and the 
rather, because the old gentleman gave him so good a 
report. When they came to the door they went in, not 
knocking, for folks use not to knock at the doors of an 
inn. Then they called for the master of the house, and 
he came to them. So they asked if they might lie theri 
that night. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 363 

Gaius. Yes, gentlemen, if 3'ou be true men, for my 
house is for none but pilgrims. 

Then were Christiana, Mercy, and the boys the 
more glad, for that the innkeeper was a lover of pil- 
grims. So they called for rooms, and he showed them 
one for Christiana and her children and Mercy, and an- 
other for Mr. Greatheart and the old gentleman. 

Then said Mr. Greatheart, Good Gaius, what hast 
thou for supper ? for these pilgrims have come far to- 
day, and are weary. 

It is late, said Gaius, so we can not conveniently go 
out to seek food ; but such as we have you shall be 
welcome to, if that will content. 

Great. We will be content with what thou hast in 
the house ; forasmuch as I have proved thee, thou art 
never destitute of that which is convenient. 

Then he went down and spake to the cook, whose 
name was Taste-that-which-is-good, to get ready supper 
for so many pilgrims. This done, he comes up again, 
saying. Come, my good friends, you are welcome to me, 
and I am glad that I have a house to entertain you in : 
and while supper is making ready, if j^ou please, let us 
entertain one another with some good discourse. So 
they all said. Content. 

Then said Gaius, Whose wife is this aged matron ? 
and whose daughter is this young damsel ? 

Great. This woman is the wife of one Christian, a 
pilgrim of former times ; and these are his four children. 
The maid is one of her acquaintance, one that she hath 
persuaded to come with her on pilgrimage. The boys 
take all after their father, and covet to tread in his 
steps ; yea, if they do but see any place where the old 
pilgrim hath lain, or any print of his foot, it ministeret h 
joy to their hearts, and they covet to lie or tread in thg 



364 I^HE /PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Then said Gaius, Is this Christian's wife, and are 
these Christian's children ? I knew your husband's 
father, yea, also his father's father. Many have Leen 
good of this stock ; their ancestors dwelt first at An- 
tioch. (Acts 11 : 26.) Christian's progenitors (I sup- 
pose you have heard your husband talk of them) were 
very worthy men. They have, above any that I know 
showed themselves men of great virtue and courage fo3 
the Lord of the pilgrims, his ways, and them that loved 
him. I have heard of many of your husband's relations 
that have stood all trials for the sake of the truth. 
Stephen, that was one of the first of the family from 
whence your husband sprang, was knocked on the head 
with stones. (Acts 7 : 59, 60.) James, another of this 
generation, was slain with the edge of the sv/ord. (Acts 
12 : 2.) To say nothing of Paul and Peter, men an- 
ciently of the family from whence your husband came, 
there was Ignatius, who was cast to the lions ; Koma- 
nus, whose flesh was cut by pieces from his bones j and 
Polycarp, that played the man in the fire. There was 
he that was hanged up in a basket in the sun for the 
wasps to eat j and he whom they put into a sack, and 
cast into the sea to be drowned. It would be impossi- 
ble utterly to count up all of that family who have 
suffered injuries and death for the love of a pilgrim's 
life. Nor can I but be glad to see that thy husband 
has leffc behind him four such boys as these. I hope 
they will bear up their father's name, and tread in their 
father's steps, and come to their father's end. 

Gkeat. Indeed, sir, they are likely lads : they geem 
to choose heartily their father's ways. 

Gaius. That is it that I said. Wherefore Christian's 
family is like still to spread abroad upon the face of the 
ground, and yet to be numerous upon the face of the 
earth ; let Christiana look out some damsels for hei 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 35^ 

sons, to whom they may be betrothed, &c., that the 
name of their father, and the house of his progenitors^ 
may never be forgotten in the world. 

Hon. 'Tis pity his family should fall and be ex. 
tinct. 

Gaius. Fall it can not, hut be diminished it may ; 
but let Christiana take my advice, and that is the way 
to uphold it. And, Christiana, said this innkeeper, I 
am glad to see thee and thy friend Mercy together here, 
a lovely couple. And if I may advise, take Mercy into 
a nearer relation to thee : if she will, let her be given 
to Matthew, thy eldest son. It is the way to preserve 
a posterity in the earth. So this match was concluded, 
and in process of time they were married : but more of 
that hereafter. 

Gaius also proceeded, and said, I will now speak on 
the behalf of women, to take away their reproach. For 
as death and the curse came into the world by a woman 
(Gen. 3), so also did life and health. God sent forth 
his Son, made of a woman. (Gal. 4 : 4.) Yea, to show 
how much they that came after did abhor the act of 
the mother, this sex in the Old Testament coveted 
^hild^en, if happily this or that woman might be the 
mother of the Saviour of the world. I will say again, 
that when the Saviour vv,^s come, women rejoiced in 
him, before either man ur £-n^el. (Luke 1 ; 42-46.) I 
read not that ever any man did give unto Christ so 
much as one groat ; but the women followed him and 
ministered to him of their substance. (Luke 8 : 2, 3.) 
'Twas a woman that washed his feet with tears (Luke 
7 : 37-50), and a woman that anointed his body at the 
burial. (John 11 : 2 ; 12 : 3.) They were women who 
wept when he was going to the cross (Luke 23 : 27), 
and women that followed him from the cross (Matt. 27: 
65, 56 ; Luke 23 ; 55), and sat over against his sepul- 



^e6 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

chre when he was buried. (Matt. 27 : 61.) They were 
women that were first with him at his resurrection- 
morn (Luke 24 : 1), and women that brought tidings 
first to his disciples that he was risen from the dead, 
(Luke 24 r 22, 23.) Women, therefore, are highly fav- 
ored, and show by these things that they are sharers 
with us in the gi'ace of life. 

Now the cook sent up to signify that supper was 
almost ready, and sent one to lay the cloth, and the 
trenchers, and to set the salt and bread in order. 

Then said Matthew, The sight of this cloth, and of 
this forerunner of the supper, begetteth in me a greater 
appetite for my food than I had before. 

Gaius. So let all ministering doctrines to thee in 
this life beget in thee a greater desire to sit at the sup-' 
per of the great King in his kingdom , for all preach- 
ing, books, and ordinances here, are but as the laying 
of the trenchers, and the setting of salt upon the board, 
when compared with the feast which our Lord will 
make for us when we come to his house. 

So supper came up. And first a heave-shoulder and 
a wave-breast were set on the table before them ; to 
show that they must begin their meal with prayer and 
praise to God. The heave-shoulder David lifted up his 
heart to God with ; and with the wave-breast, where 
his heart lay, with that he used to lean upon his harp 
when he played. (Lev. 7 : 32-34; 10 : 14, 15; Psalm 
25 , 1 , Heb. 13 : 15.) These two dishes were very 
fresh and good, and they all ate heartily thereof. 

The next they brought up was a bottle of wine, as 
red as blood. (Deut. 32 : 14 ; Judges 9:13, John 
15 : 5.) So Gaius said to them. Drink freely ; this is 
iihe true juice of the vine, that makes glad the heart of 
God and man. So they drank and were merry. 

The next was a dish of milk well crumbed ; Gaius 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 367 

said, Let the boys have that, that they may grow there- 
by= (1 Pet. 2 : 1, 2.) 

Then they brought up, in course, a dish of butter 
and honey. Then said Gaius, Eat freely of this, for 
this is good to cheer up and strengthen your judgments 
and understandings. This was our Lord's dish when 
he was a child: " Butter and honey shall he eat, that 
he may know to refuse the evil, and choose the good." 
(Isa. 7 : 15.) 

Then they brought them up a dish of apples, and 
they were very good-tasted fruit. Then said Matthew, 
May we eat apples, since it was such by and with 
which the serpent beguiled our first mother ? 

Then said Gaius, — 

•* Apples were they with which we were beguiPd, 
Yet sin, not apples, hath our souls defil'd : 
Apples forbid, if ate, corrupt the blood ; 
To eat such, when commanded, does us good j 
Drink of His flagons then, thou church. His dove^ 
And eat His apples, who are sick of love.*' 

Then said Matthew, I made the scruple, because I 
a while since was sick with the eating of fruit. 

Gaius. Forbidden fruit will make you sick; but 
not what our Lord has tolerated. 

While they were thus talking, they were presented 
with another dish, and it was a dish of nuts. (Song 
6 : 11.) Then said some at the table, Nuts spoil tender 
teeth, especially the teeth of children. Which, w^hea 
Gaius heard, he said, — 

•* Hard texts r.re nuts (I will not call them cheaters). 
Whose sh.^lls do keep their kernels from the eaters; 
Open the sliells, and you shall have the meat : 
They here; ire brought for you to crack and eat." 

Then weit they very merry, and sat at the tabi 



368 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

a long time, talking of many things. Then said the 
old gentleman, My good landlord, while we are crack- 
ing your nuts, if you please, do you open this riddle : — 

** A man there was, though some did count him mad» 
The more he cast away the more he had." 

Then they all gave good heed, wondering whatgood 
Gains would say. So he sat still a while, and then 
thus replied : — 

" He who bestows his goods upon the poor. 
Shall have as much again, and ten times more." 

Then said Joseph, I dare say, sir, I did not thinV 
you could have found it out. 

Oh, said Gains, I have been trained up in this w?- 
a great while : nothing teaches like experience. I h?yi 
learned of my Lord to be kind, and have found by ex 
perience that I have gained thereby. There is that 
scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that with- 
holdeth ipiore than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty. 
There is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing : 
there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches. 
(Prov. 11 : 24 ; 13 : 7.) 

Then Samuel whispered to Christiana, his mother, 
and said, Mother, this is a very good man's house : let 
us stay here a good while, and let my brother Matthew 
be married here to Mercy, before we go any farther. 
The which Gains the host overhearing, said. With a 
very good will, my child. 

So they stayed there more than a month, and Mercy 
was given to Matthew to wife. While thev stayed 
here, Mercy, as her custom was, would be making coats 
and garments to give to the poor, by which she brought 
a very good report upon the pilgrims. 

But to return again to our story. After supper the 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 369 

lads desired a bed, foa- they were weary with travelling. 
Then Gains called to show them their chamber; but 
Mercy said, I will have them to bed. So she had them 
to bed, and they slept well ; but the rest sat up all night: 
for Gaius and they were such suitable company, that 
they could not tell how to part. After much talk of 
their Lord, themselves, and their journey, old Mr. 
Honest, he that put forth the riddle to Gaius, began to 
nod. Then said Greatheart, What, sir, you begin to be 
drowsy ; come, rub up, now, here is a riddle for you. 
Then said Mr. Honest, Let us hear it. Then replied 
Mr. Greatheart, — 

•' He that would kill, must first be overcome. 
Who live abroad would, first must die at home.'* 

Ha, said Mr. Honest, it is a hard one : hard to ex* 
pound, and harder to practice. But come, landlord, 
said he, I will, if you please, leave my part to you; do 
you expound it, and I will hear what you say. 

No, said Gains, it was put to you, and it is expected 
you should answer it. Then said the old gentleman, — 

** He first by grace must conquer'd be, 

That sin would mortify ; 
"Who that he lives would convince me. 

Unto himself must die." 

It is right, said Gaius ; good doctrine and experi- 
ence teach this. For, first, until grace displays itself, 
and overcomes the soul with its glory, it is altogether 
without heart to oppose sin. Besides, if sin is Satan's 
cords, by which the soul lies bound, how should it 
make resistance before it is loosed from that infirmity ? 
Secondly, Nor will any one that knows either reason or 
grace, believe that such a man can be a living mon 
ument of grace that is a slave to )iaS own corruptions. 



270 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

And now it somes into my mind, I will tell you a story 
worth the hearing. There were two men that went on 
pilgrimage : the one began when he was young, the 
other when he was old. The young man had strong 
corruptions to grapple with ; the old man's were weak 
with the decays of nature. The young man trod his 
steps as even as did the old one, and was every way as 
light as he. Who now, or which of them, had their 
graces shining clearest, since both seemed to be alike? 

Hon. The young man's, doubtless. For that which 
makes head against the greate.-t opposition, gives best 
demonstration that it is strongest ; especially when it 
also holdeth pace with that which meets not half so 
much, as to be sure old age does not. Besides, I have 
observed that old men have blessed themselves with 
this mistake ; namely, taking the decays of nature for 
a gracious conquest over corruptions ; and so have been 
apt to beguile themselves. Indeed, old men that are 
gracious are best able to give advice to them that are 
young, because they have seen most of the emptiness of 
things ; but yet, for an old and a young man to set out 
both together, the young one has the advantage of the 
fairest discovery of a work of grace within him, though 
the old man's corruptions are naturally the weakest. 

Thus they sat talking till break of day. 

Now, when the family were up, Christiana bid her 
Bon James that he should read a chapter. So he read 
the 53d of Isaiah. When he had done, Mr. Honest 
asked why it was said that the Saviour is said to come 
" out of a dry ground " ; and also, that " he had no form 
nor comeliness in him." 

Then said Mr. Greatheart, To the first I answer, be- 
cause the church of the Jews, of which Christ came, 
had then lost almost all the sap and spirit of religion. 
To the second I say, the words are spoken in the per- 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 37 1 

ion of unbelievers, who, because they want the eye 
that can see into our Prince's heart, therefore they 
judge of him by the meanness of his outside; just like 
those who, not knowing that precious stones are cov- 
ered over with a homely crust, when they have found 
one, because they know not what they have found, cast 
it away again, as men do a common stone. 

Well, said Gaius, now you are here, and since, as I 
know Mr. Greatheart is good at his weapons, if you 
please, after we have refreshed ourselves, we will walk 
into the fields, to see if we can do any good. About a 
mile from hence there is one Slaygood, a giant, that 
doth much annoy the King's highway in these parts, 
and I know whereabout his haunt is. He is master of 
a number of thieves : 'twould be well if we could clear 
these parts of him. 

So they consented and went: Mr. Greatheart with 
his sword, helmet, and shield , and the rest with spears 
and staves. 

When they came to the place where he was, they 
found him with one Feeblemind in his hand, whom his 
servants had brought unto him, having taken him in 
the way. Now the giant was rifling him, with a pur- 
pose after that to pick his bones , for he was of the 
nature of flesh-eaters. 

Well, so soon as he saw Mr. Greatheart and his 
friends at the mouth of his cave, with their weapons, 
he demanded what they wanted. 

Great. We want thee > for we are come to revenge 
the quarrels of the many that thou hast slain of the 
pilgrims, when thou hast dragged them out of the 
King's highway : wherefore, come out of thy cave. So 
he armed himself and came out, and to battle they 
went, and fought for above an hour, and then stood 
Btill to take wind. 



372 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Then said the Giant, Why are you here on mj 
ground ? 

Great. To revenge the blood of pilgrims, as I told 
thee before. 

So they went to it again, and the giant made Mr. 
Greatheart give back; but he came up again, and in 
the greatness of his mind he let fly with such stoutness 
at the giant's head and sides, that he made him let his 
weapon fall out of his hand. So he smote him, and 
slew him, and cut off his head, and brought it away to 
the inn. He also took Feeblemind the pilgrim, and 
brought him with him to his lodgings. When they 
were come home, they showed his head to the family, 
and set it up, as they had done others before, for a ter- 
ror to those that should attempt to do as he hereafter. 

Then they asked Mr. Feeblemind how he fell into 
his hands. 

Feeble. Then said the poor man, I am a sickly 
man, as you see : and because death did usually once a 
day knock at my door, I thought I should never be well 
at home; so I betook myself to a pilgrim's life, and 
have travelled hither from the town of Uncertain, wher* 
I and my father were born. I am a man of no strength 
at all of body, nor yet of mind, but would, if I could, 
though I can but crawl, spend my life in the pilgrim's 
way. When I came at the gate that is at the head of 
the way, the Lord of that place did entertain me freely ; 
neither objected he against my weakly looks, nor against 
my feeble mind; but gave me such things as were 
necessary for my journey, and bid me hope to the end. 
When I came to the house of the Interpreter, I re- 
ceived much kindness there : and because the hill of 
Difficulty was judged too hard for me, I was carried up 
that by one of his servants. Indeed, I have found 
much relief from pilgrims, though none were willing 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 373 

to go SO softly as I am forced to do : yet still, as they 
came on, they bid me be of good cheer, and said, that it 
was the will of their Lord that comfort should be given 
to the feeble-minded (1 Thess. 5 : 14) ; and so went on 
their own pace. When I was come to Assault-lane, 
then this giant met with me, and bid me prepare for an 
encounter. But, alas ! feeble one that I was, I had 
more need of a cordial ; so ' he came up and took me. 
I conceited he would not kill me. Also, when he had 
got me into his den, since I went not with him will- 
ingly, I believed I should come out alive again ; for 
I have heard, that not any pilgrim that is taken captive 
by violent hands, if he keeps heart-whole towards his 
Master, is, by the laws of Providence, to die by the 
hand of the enem}^ Robbed I looked to be, and 
robbed to be sure I am ; but I have, as you see, es- 
caped with life, for the which I thank my King as the 
author, and you as the means. Other brunts I also 
look for ; but this I have resolved on, to wit, to run 
when I can, to go when I cannot run, and to creep 
when I cannot go. As to the main, I thank Him that 
loved me, I am fixed ; my way is before me, my mind 
is beyond the river that has no bridge, though I am, as 
you see, but of a feeble mind. 

Then said old Mr. Honest, Have not you, some time 
ago, been acquainted with one Mr. Fearing, a pilgrim *? 

Feeble. Acquainted with him ! Yes ; he came from 
the town of Stupidity, which lieth four degrees to the 
northward of the city of Destruction, and as many off 
of where I was born : yet we were well acquainted, for, 
indeed, he was my uncle, my father's brother. He and 
I have been much of a temper : he was a little shorter 
than I, but yet we were much of a complexion. 

Hon. I perceive you knew him, and I am apt to be- 
ilieve also that you were related one to another; foi 



374 Z*^^ P' ^GRl/>rS PROGRESS. 

you have his whi'.c f look, a cast like his with youi 
eye, and your speeo; is much alike. 

Feeble. Most have said so that have known us 
both: and, besides, what I have read in him I have for 
the most part Cound in myself. 

Come, sir. said good Gains, be of good cheer; you 
are welcome 'j me, and to my house. What thou hast 
a mind to, a\i for freely ; and what thou wouldst have 
my servavus do for thee, they will do it with a ready 
mind. 

Then said Mr. Feeblemind, This is an unexpected 
favor, and as the sun shining out of a very dark cloud. 
Did Giant Slaygood intend me this favor when he 
stopped me, and resolved to let me go no farther? 
Did he intend, that, after he had rifled my pockets, I 
should go to Gains mine host ? Yet so it is. 

Now, just as Mr. Feeblemind and Gains were thus 
in talk, there came one running, and called at the door, 
and said, that about a mile and a half off there was one 
Mr. Notright, a pilgrim, struck dead upon the place 
where he was, with a thunderbolt. 

Alas ! said Mr. Feeblemind, is he slain ? He over- 
took me some days before I came so far as hither, and 
would be my company-keeper. He was also with n^e 
when Slaygood the giant took me, but he was nimble 
of his heels, and escaped ; but it seems he escaped to 
die, and I was taken to live. 

" What one would think doth seek to slay outright, 
Ofttimes delivers from the saddest plight. 
That very Providence whose face is death, 
Doth ofttimes to the lowly life bequeath. 
I taken was, he did escape and flee ; 
Hands cross' d gave death to him and life to ^nt^" 

Now, about this time Matthew and M-rcy were 
married ; also, Gains gave his daughter 1 'hebe ^ 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. -». 

James, Matthew's brother, to wife; after which time 
they yet stayed about ten days at Gaius' house, spend- 
ing their time and the seasons like as pilgrims use 
to do. 

When they were to depart, Gaius made them a 
feast, and they did eat and drink, and were merry. 
Now the hour was come that they must be gone; 
wherefore Mr. Greatheart called for a reckoning. But 
Gaius told him, that at his house it was not the custom 
for pilgrims to pay for their entertainment. He boarded 
them by the year, but looked for his pay from the good 
Samaritan, who had promised him, at his return, what- 
soever charge he was at with them, faithfully to repay 
him. (Luke 10: 34, 35.) Then said Mr. Greatheart to 
him, — 

Great. Beloved, thoir doest faithfully whatsoever 
thou doest to the brethren, and to strangers, who have 
borne witness of thy charity before the church, whom 
if thou yet bring forward on their journey, after a 
godly sort, thou shalt do well. (3 John o, 6.) Theu 
Gaius took his leave of them all, and his children, and 
particularly of Mr. Feeblemind. He also gave him 
something to drink by the way. 

Kow Mr. Feeblemind, when they were going out of 
the door, made as if he intended to linger. The which, 
when Mr. Greatheart espied, he said, Come, Mr. Feeble- 
Qiind, pray do you go along with us : I will be your 
conductor, and you shall fare as the rest. 

Feeble. Alas ! I want a suitable companion. You 
ire all lusty and strong, but I, as you see, am weak. 
f choose, therefore, rather to come behind, lest, by 
reason of my many infirmities, I should be both a bur- 
den to myself and to you. I am, as I said, a man of a 
weak and feeble mind, and shall be offended and made 
weak at that which others can bear. I shall like bo 



2^6 TH'l PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

laughing ; I shall like no gay attire ; I shall like no 
unprofitable questions. Nay, I am so weak a man as 
fco be offended with that which others have a liberty 
to do. I do not yet know all the truth : I am a very 
ignorant Christian man. Sometimes, if I hear some 
rejoice in the Lord, it troubles me because I cannot do 
so too. It is with me as it is with a weak man among 
the strong, or as with a sick man among the healthy, 
or as a lamp despised; so that I know not what to 
do. •' He that is ready to slip with his feet is as a 
lamp despised in the thought of him that is at ease.'* 
(Job 12: 5.) 

But, brother, said Mr. Greatheart, I have it in com- 
mission to comfort the feeble-minded, and to support 
the weak. You must needs go along with us ; we will 
wait for you ; we will lend you our help ; we will 
den}^ ourselves of some things, both opinionative and 
practical, for your sake ; we will not enter into doubtful 
disputations before you ; we will be made all things 
to you, rather than you shall be left behind. (1 Thess. 
5: 14; Rom. 14:1; 1 Cor. 8: 9-13; 9: 22.) 

Now, all this while they were at Gains' door ; and 
behold, as they were thus in the heat of their discourse, 
Mr. Readytohalt came by, with his crutches in his 
hand, and he also was going on pilgrimage. 

Then said Mr. Feebtemind to him, Man, how earnest 
thou hither? I was but now complaining that I had 
not a suitable companion, but thou art according to 
my wish. Welcome, welcome, good Mr. Readytohalt; 
I hope thou and I may be some help. 

Ready. I shall be glad of thy company, said the 
other ; and, good Mr. Feeblemind, rather than we will 
part, since we are thus happily met, I will lend thee 
one of my crutches. 

Feeble. Nay, said he, though I thank thee for thy 



THE PILGRUrs PROGRESS. •y- 

^ood will, I am not inclined to halt before I am lame. 
Howbeit, I think, when occasion is, it may help me 
against a dog. 

Ready. If either myself or my crutches can do thee 
a pleasure, we are both at thy command, good Mr. 
Feeblemind. 

Thus, therefore, they went on. Mr. Greatheart and 
Mr. Honest went before, Christiana and her children 
went next, and Mr. Feeblemind came behind, and 
Mr. Readytohalt with his crutches. Then said Mr. 
Honest, — 

Hon. Pray, sir, now we are upon the road, tell us 
some profitable things of some that have gone on pil- 
grimage before us. 

Great. With a good will. I suppose you have 
heard how Christian of old did meet with Apollyon in 
the Valley of Humiliation, and also what hard work he 
had to go through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. 
Also, I think you cannot but have heard how Faithful 
was put to it by Madam Wanton, with Adam the First, 
with one Discontent, and Sham.e; four as deceitful 
villains as a man can meet with upon the road. 

Hon. Yes, I have heard of all this ; but, indeed, 
good Faithful was hardest put to it with Shame; he 
was an unwearied one. 

Great. Aye ; for, as the pilgrim well said, he of all 
men had the wrong name. 

Hon. But pray, sir, where was it that Christian and 
Faithful met Talkative ? That same was also a notable 
one. 

Great. He was a confident fool ; yet many follow 
his ways. 

Hon. He had like to have beguiled Faithful. 
Great. Aye; but Christian put him into a way 
quickly to find him out. 



jyg THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Thus they went on till they came to the place where 
Evangelist met with Christian and Faithful, and pro- 
phesied to them what should befall them at Vanity 
Fair. Then said their guide, Hereabouts did Christian 
and Faithful meet with Evangelist, who prophesied to 
them of what troubles they should meet with at Vanity 
Fair. 

Hon. Say you so ? I dare say it was a hard chapter 
that then he did read unto them. 

Great. It was so ; but he gave them encourage- 
ment withal. But what do we talk of them? They 
were a couple of lion-like men : they had set their faces 
like a flint. Do not you remember how undaunted 
they were when tlie}^ stood before the judge ? 

Hon. Well ; Faithful bravely suffered. 

Great. So he did, and as brave things came on*t ; 
for Hopeful, and some others, as the story relates it, 
were converted by his death. 

Hon. Well, but pray go on ; for you are well ac- 
quainted with things. 

Great. Above all that Christian met with after he 
had passed through Vanity Fair, one By ends was the 
arch one. 

Hon. Byends ! what was he? 

Great. A very arch fellow, a downright hypocrite j 
one that would be religious, whichever way the world 
went; but so cunning, that he would be sure never to 
lose or suffer for it. He had his mode of religion for 
every fresh occasion, and his wife was as good at it as 
he. He would turn from opinion to opinion ; yea, and 
plead for so doing, too. But, so far as I could learn, 
he came to an ill end with his by-ends ; nor did I ever 
hear that any of his children were ever of any esteem 
with any that truly feared God. 

Now by this time they were come within sight of 



THE PIL GRIM 'S PROGRESS. 3 7^ 

the town of Vanity, where Yanit}^ Fail is kept. So, 
when they saw that they were so near the town, they 
consulted with one another how they should pass 
through the town ; and some said one thing, and some 
another. At last Mr. Greatheart said, I have, as you 
. may understand, often been a conductor of pilgrims 
through this town. Now, I am acquainted with one 
Mr. Mnason (Acts 21 : 16), a Cyprusian by nation, an 
old disciple, at whose house we may lodge. If you 
think good, we will turn in there. 

Content, said old Honest ; Content, said Christiana; 
Content, said Mr. Feeblemind, and so they said all. 
Now you must think it was eventide by that they got 
to the outside of the town ; but Mr. Greatheart knew 
the way to the old man's house. So thither they came, 
and he called at the door, and the old man within knew 
his tongue as soon as ever he heard it ; so he opened 
the door, and they all came in. Then said Mnason, 
. their host, How fcir have ye come to-day ? So they 
said, From the house of Gains, our friend. I promise 
you, said he, you have gone a good stitch. You may 
well be weary ; sit down. So the}^ sat down. 

Then said their guide. Come, what cheer, good sirs ? 
I dare say you are welcome to my friend. 

Mnas. I also, said Mr. Mnason, do bid you wel- 
come ; and whatever jou want, do but say, and we will 
do what we can to get it for you. 

Hon. Our great want, a while since, was harbor and 
good compan}^ and now I hope we have both. 

Mnas. For harbor, you see what it is, but for good 
company, that will appear in the trial. 

Great. Well, said Mr. Greatheart, will you have 
the pilgrims up into their lodging ? 

I will, said Mr. Mnason. So he had them to their 
respective places ; and also showed them a very fail 



380 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

dining-room, where they might be, and sup togethei 
until the time should come to go to rest. 

Now, when thej were seated in their places, and 
were a little cheery after their journey, Mr. Honest 
asked his landlord if there was any store of good people 
in the town. 

Mnas. We have a few : for, indeed, they are but a 
few when compared with them on the other side. 

Hon. But how shall we do to see some of them '' 
for the sight of good men to them that are going on 
pilgrimage, is like the appearing of the moon and stars 
to them that are sailing upon the seas. 

Then Mr. Mnason stamped with his foot, and his 
daughter Grace came up. So he said unto her, Grace, 
go you, tell my friends, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holyman, 
Mr. Lovesaints, Mr. Darenotlie, and Mr. Penitent, that 
I have a friend or two at my house who have a mind 
this evening to see them. So Grace went to call them, 
and they came, and after salutation made, they sat 
down together at the table. 

Then said Mr. Mnason their landlord, My neighbors, 
I have, as yoii see, a company of strangers come to my 
house , they are pilgrims . they come from afar, and 
are going to Mount Zion. But who, quoth he, do you 
think this is? pointing his finger to Christiana. It is 
Christiana, the wife of Christian, the famous pilgrim, 
who, with Faithful his brother, was so shamefully 
handled in our town. At that they stood amazed, say- 
ing, We little thought to see Christiana when Grace 
came to call us; wherefore this is a very comfortable 
surprise. They then asked her of her welfare, and if 
these young men were her husband's sons. And when 
she had told them they were, they said, The King 
whom you love and serve make you as your father, and 
bring you where he is in peace. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 381 

Then Mr. Honest (when they were all sat down) 
asked Mr. Contrite and the rest, in what posture their 
town was at present. 

CoNT. You may be sure we are full of hurry in 
fair-time. 'Tis hard keeping our hearts and spirits in 
good order when we are in a cumbered condition. He 
that lives in such a place as this is, and has to do with 
such as we have, has need of an item to caution him to 
take heed every moment of the day. 

Hon. But how are your neighbors now for quietness? 

CoNT. They are much more moderate now than 
formerly. You know how Christian and Faithful were 
used at our town ; but of late, I say, they have been 
far more moderate. I think the blood of Faithful lieth 
as a load upon them till now ; for, since they burned 
him, they have been ashamed to burn any more. In 
those days we were afraid to walk the street ; but now 
we can show our heads. Then the name of a professor 
was odious ; now, especially in some parts of our town 
(for you know our town is large) religion is counted 
honorable. 

Then said Mr. Contrite to them. Pray, how fareth it 
with you in your pilgrimage ? how stands the country 
affected toward you ? 

Hon. It happens to us as it happeneth to wayfaring 
men r sometimes our way is clean, sometimes foul; 
sometimes up hill, sometimes down hill ; we are seldom 
at a certainty. The wind is not always on our backs, 
nor is every one a friend that we meet with in the 
way. We have met with some notable rubs already, 
and what are yet behind we know not ; but, for the 
most p^rt, we find it true that has been talked of old^ 
A good man must suffer trouble. 

CoNT. You talk of rubs ; what rubs have you mel 
withal? 



58^ THE P/LGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

HoNc Nay, ask Mr. Greatheart, our guide ; for h© 
san give the best account of that. 

Great. We have been beset three or four times 
already. First, Christiana and her children were beset 
by two ruffians, who they feared would take away their 
lives. We were beset by Giant Bloodyman, Giant 
Maul, and Giant Slaygood. Indeed, we did rather 
beset the last than were beset by him. And thus it 
was : after we had been some time at the house of 
Gaius mine host, and of the whole church, we were 
minded upon a time to take our weapons with us, and 
go see if we could light upon any of those that are 
enemies to pilgrims ; for we heard that there was a 
notable one theaeabouts. Now Gaius knew his haunt 
better than I, because he dwelt thereabout. So we 
looked, and looked, till at last we discerned the mouth 
of his cave : then we were glad, and plucked up our 
spirits. So we approached up to his den ; and lo, 
when we came there, he had dragged, by mere force, 
into his net, this poor man, Mr. Feeblemind, and was 
about to bring him to his end. But when he saw us, 
supposing, as we thought, he had another prey, he left 
the poor man in his hole, and came out. So we fell to 
it full sore, and he lustily laid about him ; but, in con- 
clusion, he was brought down to the ground, and his 
head cut off, and set up by the wayside for a terror 
to such as should after practice such ungodliness. 
That I tell you the truth, here is the man himself to 
affirm it, who was as a lamb taken out of the mouth of 
the lion. 

Then said Mr. Feeblemind, I found this true, to my 
cost and comfort : to my cost, when he threatened to 
pick my bones every moment ; and to my comfort, 
when I saw Mr. Greatheart and his friends, with theii 
weapons, approach so near for my deliverance. 



THE PILGMIM'S PI^OGRESS. 3S3 

Then said Mr. Holy man, There are two things that 
i\»jy have need to possess who go on pilgrimage: 
courage, and an unspotted life. If they have not 
courage, they can never hold on their way ; and if their 
lives be loose, they will make the very name of a 
pilgrim stink. 

Then said Mr. Lovesaints, I hope this caution is 
not needful among you : but truly there are many that 
go upon the road, who rather declare themselves 
strangers to pilgrimage, than strangers and pilgrims 
on the earth. 

Then said Mr. i)arenotlie, 'Tis true ; they havu 
neither the pilgrim's weed, nor the pilgrim's courage; 
they go not uprightly, but all awry with their feet; 
one shoe goeth inward, another outward ; and tlieir 
hosen are out behind : here a rag, and there a rent, to 
the disparagement of their Lord. 

Pen. These things, said Mr. Penitent, they ought te 
be troubled for ; nor are the pilgrims like to have that 
grace put upon them and their Pilgrim's Progress aa 
they desire, until the way is cleared of such spots and 
blemishes. 

Thus they sat talking and spending the time until 
supper was set upon the table, unto which they went, 
and refreshed their weary bodies : so they went to rest. 

Now they stayed in the fair a great while, at the 
house of this Mr. Mnason, who, in process of time, gave 
his daughter Grace unto Samuel, Christiana's son, to 
wife, and his daughter Martha to Joseph. 

The time, as I said, that they stayed here, was long, 
for it was not now as in former times. Wherefore the 
pilgrims grew acquainted with many of the good people 
of the town, and did them what service they could. 
Mercy, as she was wont, labored much for the poor s 
!<?herefore their bellies and backs blessed her, and sh» 



384 ^^'^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

was there an ornament to her profession. And, to say 
the truth for Grace, Phebe, and Martha, they were aU 
of a very good nature, and did much good in their 
places. They were, also, all of them very fruitful ; so 
that Christian's name, as was said before, was like to 
live in the world. 

While they lay here, there came a monster out of 
the woods, and slew many of the people of the town. 
It would also carry away their children, and teach them 
to suck its whelps. Now, no man in the town durst so 
much as face this monster ; but all fled when they 
heard the noise of his coming. The monster was like 
unto no one beast on the earth. Its body was like a 
dragon, and it had seven heads and ten horns. (Rev. 
13 : 1.) It made great havoc of children, and yet it 
was governed by a woman. (Rev. 17 : 3.) This mon- 
ster propounded conditions to men ; and such men as 
loved their lives more than their souls, accepted of those 
conditions. So they came under. 

Now Mr. Greatheart, together with those who came 
to visit the pilgrims at Mr. Mnason's house, entered 
into a covenant to go and engage this beast, if perhaps 
they might deliver the people of this town from the 
paws and mouth of this so devouring a serpent. 

Then did Mr. Greatheart, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy- 
man, Mr. Darenotlie, and Mr. Penitent, with their 
weapons, go forth to meet him. Now the monster at 
first was very rampant, and looked upon these enemies 
with great disdain ; but they so belabored him, being 
sturdy men at arms, that they made him make a retreat. 
So they came home to Mr. Mnason's house again. 

The monster, j^ou must know, had his certain sea- 
sons to conio out in, and to make his attempts upon the 
children of the people of the town. At these seasons 
did these valiant worthies watch him, and did still con' 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 38^ 

tinually assault him ; insomuch that in process of time 
he became not only wounded, but lame. Also, he has 
not made that havoc of the townsmen's children as 
formerly he had done ; and it is verily believed by some 
that this beast will die of his wounds. 

This, therefore, made Mr, Greatheart and his fellows 
of great fame in this town ; so that many of the people 
that wanted their taste of things, yet had a reverent 
esteem and respect for them. Upon this account, there- 
fore^ it w^as, that these pilgrims got not much hurt 
herb. True, there were some of the baser sort, that 
could see no more than a mole, nor understand 
any more than a beast ; these had no reverence for 
these men, nor took they notice of their valor and ad« 
ventures. 



THE SEVENTH STAGE. 

Well, the time grew on that the pilgrims muso gf 
on their way ; wherefore they prepared for their journey 
They sent for their friends ; they conferred with them ; 
they had some time set apart therein to commit each 
other to the protection of their Prince. There were 
again that brought them of such things as they had, 
that were fit for the weak and the strong, for the 
women and the men, and so laded them with such 
things as were necessary. (Acts 28 : 40.) Then they 
set forward on their way; and their friends accom- 
panying them so far as was convenient, they again com* 
mitted each other to the protection of their King, and 
parted. 

They, therefore, that were of tlie pilgrims' company 



jg5 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRES^^ 

went on, and Mr. Greatheart went before them, ISTow, 
the women and children being weakly, they were 
forced to go as they could bear, by which means Mr. 
Ready tohalt and Mr. Feeblemind, had more to sympa 
thize with their condition. 

When they wero gone from the townsmen, and whei. 
their friends had bid them farewell, they quickly came 
to the place where Faithful was put to death. There* 
fore they made a stand, and thanked Him that had en- 
abled him to bear his cross so well ; and the rather, be* 
cause they now found that they had a beneiit by such 
a manly suffering as his was. 

They went on, therefore, after this, a good 'w^y 
farther, talking of Christian and Faithful, and how 
Hopeful joined himself to Christian after that Faithful 
was dead. 

Now they were come up with the hill Lucre, where 
the silver mine was which took Demas off from his 
pilgrimage, and into which, as some think, By ends fell 
and perished ; wherefore they considered that. But 
when they were come to the old monument that stood 
over against the hill Lucre, to wit, to the pillar of salt, 
that stood also within view of Sodom and its stinking 
lake, they marvelled, as did Christian before, that men 
of such knowledge and ripeness of wit as they were, 
should be so blinded as to turn aside here. Only they 
considered again, that nature is not affected with the 
harms that others have met with, especially if that 
thing upon which they look has an attracting virtue 
upon the foolish eye. 

I saw now, that they went on till they came to the 
river that was on this side of the Delectable Mountains; 
to the river where the fine trees grow on both sides, 
and whose leaves, if taken inwardly, are good against 
surfeits; where the meadows are green all the yeai' 



7'HE PILGRTM'S PROGRESS 2»? 

long, a»id wliei-e they might lie down safely. (Psa. 
23 % 2.) 

By this river-side, in the meadows, there were cotea 
and folds for sheep, a house built for the nourishing 
and bringing up of those lambs, the babes of those 
women that go on pilgrimage. (Heb. 5 : 2.) Also^ 
there was here Que that was intrusted with them, who 
could have compassion; and that could gather these 
lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and 
gently lead those that were with young. (Isa. 40 : 11.) 
Now, to the care of this man Christiana admonished her 
four daughters to commit their little ones, that by these 
waters they might be housed, harbored, succored, and 
nourished, and that none of them might be lacking ia 
time to come. (Jer. 23 : 4.) This man, if any of them 
go astray, or be lost, will bring them again ; he will 
also bind up tliat which was broken, and will strengthen 
them that are sick. (Ezek. 34 : 11-16.) Here they wilJ 
never want meat, drink, and clothing ; here they will 
be kept from thieves and robbers ; for this man will die 
before one of those committed to his trust shall be lost. 
Besides, here they shall be sure to have good tjurture 
and admonition, and shall be taught to walk in right 
paths, and that you know isa favor of no small account. 
Also here, as you see, are delicate waters, pleasant 
meadows, dainty flowers, variety of trees, and such as 
bear wholesome fruit : fruit, not like that which Mat- 
thew ate of, that fell over the wall out of Beelzebub's 
garden ; but fruit that procuretli health where there is 
none, and that continueth and increaseth it where it is. 
So they were content to commit their little ones to him ,• 
and that which was also an encouragement to them so 
to do, was, for that all this was to be at the charge oj 
the King, and so was as an hospital to youag childr^ 
and orphans. 



j88 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

Now they went on. And when they were come tfe 
By-path Meadow, to the stile over which Christian went 
with his fellow Hopeful, when they were taken by Giant 
Despair and put into Doubting Castle, they sat down, 
and consulted what was best to be done : to wit, now 
tliey Avere so strong, and had got such a man as Mr. 
Greatheart for their conductor, whether they had not 
best to make an attempt upon the giant, demolish his 
castle, and if there were any pilgrims in it, to set them at 
liberty before they went any farther. So one said one 
fching, and another said the contrary. One questioned 
if it was lawful to go upon unconsecrated ground , 
another said they might, provided their end was good , 
but Mr. Greatheart said. Though that assertion offered 
last cannot be universally true, yet I have a command- 
ment to resist sin, to overcome evil, to fight the good 
fight of faith : and I pray, with whom should I fight 
this good fight, if not with Giant Despair? I will 
therefore attempt the taking away of his life, and the 
demolishing of Doubting Castle. Then said he, Who 
will go with me? Then said old Honest, I will. And 
^o will we too, said Christiana's four sons, Matthew, 
Samuel, Joseph, and James; for they were young men 
lind strong. (1 John 2 : 13, 14.) So they left the 
women in the road, and with them Mr. Feeblemind, 
eind Mr. Readytohalt with his crutches, to be their 
guard until they came back ; for in that place the Giant 
Despair dwelt so near, they keeping in the road, a little 
child might lead them. (Isa. 11 : 6.) 

So Mr. Greatheart, old Honest, and the four young 
men, went to go up to Doubting Castle, to look for 
Giant Despair. When they came at the castle-gate» 
they knocked lor entrance with an unusual noise. At 
that the old giant comes to the gate, and DiflSdence his 
wife follows. Then said he. Who and what is he tha* 



A HE PILGRIMS' PROGRESS. 389 

is 80 hardy, as, after this manner, to molest the Giant 
Despair? Mr. Greatheart replied, It is I, Greatheart, 
one of the King of the Celestial Country's conductors 
bi pilgrims to their place ; and I demand of thee that 
thou open thy gates for my entrance : prepare thyself 
also to fight, for I am come to take away thy head, and 
to demolish Doubting Castle. 

Now Giant Despair, because he was a giant, thought 
no man could overcome him : and again thought he, 
Since heretefore I have made a conquest of angels, shall 
Greatheart make me afraid? So he harnessed himself, 
and went out. He had a cap of steel upon his head, a 
breastplate of fire girded to him, and he came out in 
iron shoes, with a great club in his hand. Then these 
six men made up to him, and beset him behind and be- 
fore: also, when Diffidence the giantess came up to help 
him, old Mr. Honest cut her down atone blow. Then 
they fought for their lives, and Giant Despair was 
brought down to the ground, but was very loth to 
die. He struggled hard, and had, as they say, a^ 
many lives as a cat ; but Greatheart was his deatf 
for he left him not till he had severed his head from '• 
shoulders. 

Then they fell to demolishing Doubting Castle, and 
that you know might with ease be done, since Giant 
Despair was dead. They were seven days in destroy- 
ing of that ; and in it of pilgrims they found one Mr. 
Despondency, almost starved to death, and one Much- 
afraid, his daughter : these two they saved alive. But 
it would have made you wonder to have seen the dead 
bodies that lay here and there in the castle-yard, and 
how full of dead men's bones the dungeon was. 

When Mr. Greatheart and his companions had per- 
formed this exploit, they took Mr. Despondency, and 
big daughter Muchafraid, into their protection; foj 



390 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

they were honest people, though they were prisoners in 
Doubting Castle to that tyrant Giant Despair. They, 
therefore, I say, took with them the head of the giant 
(for his body they had buried under a heap of stones), 
and down to the road and to their companions they 
came, and showed them what they had done. Now, 
when Feeblemind and Eeadytohalt saw that it was the 
head of Giant Despair indeed, they were very jocund 
and merry. Now Christiana, if need was, could play 
upon the viol, and her daughter Mercy upon the lute : 
so, since they were so merry disposed, she played them 
a lesson, and Eeadytohalt would dance. So he took 
Despondency's daughter, Muchafraid by the hand, and 
to dancing they went on the road. True, he could not 
dance without one crutch in his hand, but I promise 
you he footed it well: also, the girl was to be com- 
mended, for she answered the music handsomely. 

As for Mr. Despondency, the music was not so much 
to him; he was for feeding rather than dancing, for 
that he was almost starved. So Christiana gave him 
some of her bottle of spirits for present relief, and then 
prepared him something to eat ; and in a little time the« 
old gentleman came to himself, and began to be finely 
revived. 

Now I saw, in my dream, when all these things wer<> 
finished, Mr. Greatheart took the head of Giant De 
spair, and set it upon a pole by the highway-side, right 
ever against the pillar that Christian erected for j> 
caution to pilgrims that came after, to take heed of en- 
tering into his grounds. 

Then he v/rit under it, upon a marble stone, i^iove 
verses following : — 

*• This is the head of him whose name only 
in former times did pilgrims terrify. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 391 

His castle's down, and Diffidence his wife 
Brave Mr. Greatheart has bereft of life. 
Despondency, his daughter Muchafraid, 
Greatheart for them also the man has play'd. 
Who hereof douhts, if he'll but cast his eye 
Up hither, may his scruples satisfy. 
This head also, when doubting cripples dance. 
Doth show from fears they have deliverance." 

When these men had thus bravely showed them- 
selves against Doubting Castle, and had slain Giant 
Despair, they went forward, and went on till they came 
to the Delectable Mountains, where Christian and 
Hopeful refreshed themselves with the varieties of the 
place. They also acquainted themselves with the 
shepherds there, who welcomed them, as they had done 
Christian before, unto the Delectable Mountains. 

]^ow the shepherds seeing so great a train follow 
Mr. Greatheart (for with him they were well acquaint- 
ed), they said unto him. Good sir, you have got agoodly 
company here ; pray, where did you find all these ? 

Then Mr. Greatheart replied : 

' " First, here is Christiana and her train, 

Her sons, and her sons' wives, who, like the wain. 

Keep by the pole and do by compass steer 

From sin to grace, else they had not been here. 

Next, here's old Honest come on pilgrimage ; 

Readytohalt too, who, I dare engage, 

True-hearted is ; and so is Feeblemind, 

Who willing was not to be left behind ; 

Despondency, good men, is coming after. 

And so also is Muchafraid, his daughter. 

May we have entertainment here, or must 

We farther go ? Let's know whereon to trust.** 

Then said the shepherds. This is a comfortable com- 
pany. You are welcome to us, for we have for the 
feeble, as well as for the strong. Our Pr^^^e has an 



392 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

eye to what is done to the least of these , therefore 
infirmity must not be a block to our entertainment 
(Matt. 25 : 40.) So they had them to the palace-door 
and then said unto them, Come in, Mr. Feeblemind, 
Come in, Mr. Readytohalt ; Come in, Mr. Despondency, 
and Mrs. MuchafL-aid, his daughter. These, Mr. Great- 
heart, said the shepherds to the guide, we call in by 
name, for that they are most subject to draw back ; but 
as for you, and the rest, that are strong, we leave you 
to your wonted liberty. Then said Mr. Greatheart, 
This day I see that grace doth shine in your faces, and 
that you are my Lord's shepherds indeed ; for that you 
have not pushed these, diseased neither with side nor 
shoulder, but have rather strewed their way into the 
palace with flowers, as you should, (Ezek. 34 : 21.) 

So the feeble and weak went in, and Mr. Greatheart 
and the rest did follow. When they were also set 
down, the shepherds said to those of the weaker sort, 
What is it that you would have ? for, said they, all 
things must be managed here to the supporting of the 
weak, as well as to the warning of the unruly. So they 
made them a feast of tilings easy of digestion, and that 
were pleasant to the palate, and nourishing ; the which 
when they had received, they went to their rest, each 
one respectively unto his proper place. 

When morning was come, because the mountains 

ere high and the day clear, and because it was the 

ustom of the shepherds to show the pilgrims, before 

heir departure, some rarities, therefore, after they were 

^ady, and had refreshed themselves, the shepherds 

took them out into the fields, and showed them first 

what they had shown to Christian before. 

Then they had them to some new places. The first 
was Mount Marvel, where they looked, and beheld a 
aian at a distance that tumbled the hiils about witii 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 393 

frords. Then they asked the shepherds what that 
should mean. So they told them, that that man was 
the son of one Mr. Greatgrace, of whom you read in 
the first part of the records of the Pilgrim's Progress , 
and he is set there to teach pilgrims how to believe 
down, or to tumble out of their ways, what difficulties 
they should meet with, by faith. (Mark 11 : 23, 24.) 
Then said Mr. Greatheart, I know him : he is a man 
ab'^ve many. 

Then they had them to another place, called Mount 
Innocence. And there they saw a man clothed all in 
white; and two men, Prejudice and Illwill, continually 
casting dirt upon him. Now behold, the dirt, what- 
soever they cast at him, would in a little time fall off 
again, and his garment would look as clean as if no 
dirt had been cast thereat. Then said the pilgrims, 
What means this ? The shepherds answered, This man 
is named Godlyman, and his garment is to show the 
innocency of his life. Now, those that throw dirt at 
him are such as hate his well-doing ; but, as you see, 
the dirt will not stick upon his clothes : so it shall be 
with him that liveth innocently in the world. Who- 
ever they be that would make such men dirty, they 
labor all in vain ; for God, by that a little time is spent, 
will cause that their innocence shall break forth as the 
light, and their righteousness as the noonday. 

Then they took them, and had them to Mount Char- 
ity, where they showed them a man that had a bundle 
of cloth lying before him, out of which he cut coats 
and garments for the poor that stood about him ; yet 
his bundle, or roll of cloth, was never the less. Then 
said they, What should this be? This is, said tha 
shepherds, to show you that he who has a heart to give 
of his labor to the poor, shall never want wherewithal. 
He that watereth shali be watered himself. And th« 



394 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 



cake that the widow gave to the prophet did not cause 
that she had the less in her barrel. 

They had them also to the place where they saw 
one Fool and one Want wit washing an Ethiopian, with 
intention to make him white; but the more they 
washed him, the blacker he was. Then they asked the 
shepherds what that should mean. So they told them, 
saying, Thus it is with the vile person ; all means used 
to get such a one a good name shall, in conclusion, tend 
but to make him more abominable. Thus it was with 
the pharisees : and so it shall be with all hypocrites. 

Then said Mercy, the wife of Mattliew, to Christiana 
her mother, Mother, I would, if it might be, see the hole 
in the hill, or that commonly called the By-way to Hell. 
So her mother brake her mind to the shepherds. Then 
they went to the door ; it was on the side of an hill ; 
and they opened it, and bid Mercy hearken a while. So 
sue hearkened, and heard one saying. Cursed be id*' 
father, for holding of my feet back from the way ot 
peace and life. Another said, Oh, that I had been torn 
to pieces before I had, to save my life, lost my soul ! 
And another said, If I were to live again, how would I 
deny myself, rather than to come to this place! Then 
\here was as if the very earth groaned and quaked under 
the feet of this young woman for fear ; so she looked 
white, and came trembling away, saying, Blessed be he 
and she that is delivered from this place ! 

Now, when the shepherds had shown them all these 
things, then they had them back to the palace, and en- 
tertained them with what the house would afford. But 
Mercy, being a young and married woman, longed for 
something that she sew there, but was ashamed to ask. 
Her mother-in-law then asked her what she ailed, for 
she looked as one noc well. Then said Mercy, There 
is a looking-glass hangs up in the dining-room^ off which 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 395 

I cannot take my mind ; if, therefore, I have it not, I 
think I shall miscarry. Then said her mother, I will 
mention thy wants to the shepherds, and they will not 
deny thee. But, she said, I am ashamed that tlicse men 
should know that I longed. Nay, my daughter, said she, 
it is no shame, but a virtue, to long for such a thing as 
that. So Mercy said. Then, mother, if you please, ask 
the shepherds if they are willing to sell it. 

Now the glass was one of a tliousand. It w^ould pre- 
sent a man, one way, with his own features exactly; and 
turn it but another way, and it would show one the 
very face and similitude of the Prince of pilgrims him- 
self. Yes, I have talked with them that can tell, and 
they have said that they have seen the very crown of 
thorns upcm his head by looking in that glass; they 
have therein also seen the holes in his hands, his feet, 
and his side. Yea, such an excellency is there in this 
glass, that it will show him to one w^here they have a 
mind to see him, w^hether living or dead; whether in 
earth, or in heaven; whether in a state of humiliation, 
or in his exaltation ; whether coming to suffer, or coming 
to reign. (James 1 : 23 ; 1 Cor. 13 : 12 ; 2 Cor. 3 : 18.) 

Christiana therefore w^ent to the shepherds apart 
(now the names of the shepherds w^ere Knowledge, 
Experience, Watchful, and Sincere,) and said unto them, 
There is one of my daughters, a breeding w^oman, that 
I think doth long for something that she hath seen in 
this house ; and she thinks that she shall miscarry if 
she should by you be denied. 

Experience. Call her, call her, she shall assuredly 
have what we can help her to. So they called her, and 
said to her, Mercy, ^vhat is that thing thou wouldst 
have? Then she blushed, and said. The great glass 
that hangs up in the dining-room. So Sincere ran and 
fetched it. and with & iovful consent it was given her 



196 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

Then she bowed her head, and gave thanks ; and said, 
By this I know that I have obtained favor in your 
eyes. 

They also gave to the other young women such 
things as they desired, and to their husbands great com- 
mendations, for that they had joined with Mr. Great 
heai't in the slaying of Giant Despair, and the demol« 
ishing of Doubting Castle. 

About Christiana's neck the shepherds put a brac( 
let, and so did they about the necks of her four daugl • 
ters ; also, they put ear-rings in their ears, and jewei«^ 
on their foreheads. 

When they were minded to go thence, they let them 
go in peace, but gave not to them those certain cautions 
which before were given to Christian and his companion. 
The reason was for that these had Greatlieart to bo 
their guide, who was one that was well acquainted with 
things, and so could give them their cautions more seas- 
onably, to wit, even when the danger was nigh the 
approaching. What cautions Christian and his com- 
panion had received of the shepherds, they had also 
lost by that tiie time was come that they had need to 
put them in practice. Wherefore, here was the advan- 
tage that this company Lad over the other. 

From thence they went on singing, and they said,—* 

"Behold how fitly are the stag-es set, 

For their relief that pilgrims are become; 
And how they us receive without one let, 

That make the other life our mark and home. 

*'What novelties they have to us they give, 

That we though pilgrims, joyful lives may live. 
They do upon us, too, such things bestow. 
That show we pilgrims are, where'er we go." 



THE J'lLGRIM'S PROGRESS 



THE EIGHTH STAGE. 



When they were gone from the shepherds, thej 
r[uickly came to the place where Christian met with 
one Turnaway, that dwelt in the town of Apostasy. 
Wherefore of him, Mr. Greatheart, their guide, now put 
them in mind, saying, This is the place where Christian 
met with one Turnaway, who carried with him the 
character of his rebellion at his back. And this I have 
to say concerning this man : he would hearken to no 
counsel, but once a falling, persuasion could not stop 
kim. When he came to the place where the cross and 
sepulchre were, he did meet with one that bid him look 
there ; but he gnashed with his teeth, and stamped, and 
said he was resolved to go back to his own town. Be- 
fore he came to the gate, he met with Evangelist, who 
offered to lay hands on him, to turn him into the way 
again ; but this Turnaway resisted him, and having 
done much despite unto him, he got away over the wall, 
and so escaped his hand. 

Then they went on ; and just at the place where 
Littlefaith formerly was robbed, there stood a man 
with his sword drawn, and his face all over with blood 
Then said Mr. Greatheart, Who art thou ? The man 
made answer, saying, I am one whose name is Valiant- 
for-truth. I am a pilgrim, and am going to the Celes- 
tial City. Now, as I was in my way, there were three 
men that did beset me, and propounded unto me these 
three things: 1. Whether I would become one of 
them. 2. Or go back from whence I came. 3. Or die 
upon the place. (Prov. 1 : 11-14.) To the first I 
answered, I had been a true man for a long season, and 



398 fff^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

therefore it could not be expected that I should now 
cast ill my lot with thieves. Then they demanded 
what I would say to the second. So I told them the 
place from whence I came, had I not found incom- 
modity there, I had not forsaken it at all ; but finding 
it altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofitable 
for me, I forsook it for this way. Then they asked me 
what I said to the tliird. And I told them my life cost 
far more dear than that I should lightly give it away. 
Besides, you have nothing to do thus to put things to 
my choice ; wherefore at your peril be it if you meddle. 
Then these three, to wit, Wildhead, Inconsiderate, and 
Pragmatic, drew upon me, and I also drew upon them. 
So we fell to it, one against three, for the space of 
above three hours. They have left upon me, as you 
see, some of the marks of their valor, and have also 
carried away with them some of mine. They are but 
just now gone : I suppose they might, as the saying is, 
hear your horse dash, and so they betook themselves 
to flight. 

Great. But here was great odds, three against one. 

Valiant. 'Tis true ; but little or more are nothing 
to him that has the truth on his side : " Though an 
host should encamp against me," said one (Psa. 27 : 3), 
"my heart shall not fear: though war should rise 
against me, in this will I be confident," &c. Besides, 
said he, I have read in some records, that one man has 
fought an army: and how many did Samson slay with 
the jawbone of an ass I 

Then said the guide. Why did you not cry out, that 
some might have come in for your succor? 

Valiant. So I did to my King, who I knew could 
hear me, and afford invisible help, and that was suxil 
dent for me. 

Then said Greatheart to Mr. Valiant-for~truth, Thou 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 3^^ 

iiast worthily behaved thyself ; let me see thy sword» 
So le showed it him. 

When he had taken it in his hand, and looked 
thereon a while, he said. Ha ! it is a right Jerubalem 
blade. 

Valiant. It is so. Let a man have one of these 
blades, with a hand to wield it, and skill to use it, and 
he may venture upon an angel with it. He need not 
fear its holding, if he can but tell how to lay on. Its 
edge will never blunt. It will cut flesh and bones, and 
soul, and spirit, and all. (Heb. 4 : 12.) 

Gkeat. But you fought a great while ; I wondei 
you was not weary. 

Valiant. I fought till my sword did cleave to my 
hand; and then they were joined together as if a sword 
grew out of my arm ; and when the blood ran through 
my fingers, then I fought with mo-^t courage. 

Great. Thou hast done well ; thou hast resisted 
unto blood, striving against sin. Thou shalt abide by 
us, come in and go out with us ; for we are thy com- 
panions. Then they took him and washed his Avounds, 
and gave him of what they had, to refresh him ; and so 
they went on together. 

Now, as they went on, because Mr. Greatheart was 
delighted in him (for he loved one greatly that he found 
to be a man of his hands), and because there were in 
compan}^ those that were feeble and weak, therefore he 
questioned with him about many things; as^ first, what 
countryman he was. 

Valiant. I am of Darkland ; for there was I born, 
and there my father and mother tjc still. 

Great. Darkland ! srid the guid^^ \ doth not that 
He on the same coast with the city of Destruction? 

Valiant. Yes, it doth. Now, that which caused 
me to come on pilgrimage was this. We had one Mr, 



^OO THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Telltrue come into our parts, and he told it about wbai 
Christian had done, that went from the city of Destruc- 
tion , namely, ho\Y he had forsaken his wife and chil 
dren, and had betaken himself to a pilgrim's life. It was 
also confidently reported, how he had killed a serpent 
that did come out to resist him in his journey ,• and 
how he got through to whither he intended. It was 
also told what welcome he had at all his Lord's lodgings, 
especially when he came to the gates of the Celestial 
City i for there, said the man, he was received with 
sound of trumpet by a company of shining ones. He 
told also how all the bells in the city did ring for joy 
at his reception, and what golden garments he ^ras 
clothed witli ; with many other tilings that now I shall 
forbear to relate. In a word, that man so told the 
.story of Christian and his travels that my heart fell into 
a burning haste to be gone after him ; nor could father 
or mother stay me. So I got from them, and am coma 
thus far on my way. 

Great. You came in at the gate, did you not? 

Valiant, Yes, yes ; for the same man also told us, 
that all would be nothing if we did not begin to enter 
this wa}^ at the gate. 

Look you, said the guide to Christiana, the pilgrim- 
age of your husband, and what he has gotten thereby, 
IS spread abroad far and near. 

Valiant. Why, is this Christian's wife ? 

Great. Yes, that it is, and these also are his four 
sons. 

Valiant. What, and going on pilgrimage, too ^ 

Great. Yes, verily, they are following after. 

Valiant. It glads me at the heart. Good man 
how joyful will he be when he shall see them that 
would not go with him, yet to enter after him in at the 
gates into the Celestial Citv. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^o^ 

Great. Without doubt it will be a comfort to him, 
for, next to the joy of seeing himself there, it will be a 
joy to meet there his wife and children. 

Valiant. But now you are upon that, pray let me 
hear your opinion aboMt it. Some make a question 
whether we shall know one another when we are there. 
Great. Do you think they shall know themselves 
then, or that they shall rejoice to see themselves in that 
bliss? And if they think they shall know and do this, 
why not know others, and rejoice in their welfare also? 
Again, since relations are our second self, though that 
state will be dissolved there, yet why may it not be 
rationally concluded that we shall be more glad to see 
them there than to see they are wanting? 

Valiant. Well, I perceive wliereabouts y^n are as 
to this. Have you any more things to ask ine about 
my beginning to come on pilgrimage'^ 

Great Yes ; were your fatlier and mother willing 
that you should become a pilgrim ? 

Valiant. Oh, no, they used all meana imaginable 
k) persuade me to stay at home. 

Great. Why, what could the} say against it ? 
Valiant. They said it was an idle life; and if I 
myself were not inclined to sloth and laziness, I would 
never countenance a pilgrim's condition. 
Great. And what did they say else? 
Valiant, Why, they told me that it was a danger- 
ous way ; yea, the most dangerous way in the w orld, 
said they, is that which the pilgrims go. 

Great. Did they show you wherein this way is so 
dangerous ? 

Valiat. Yes , and that in many particulars. 
Great. Name some of them. 

Valiant. They told me of the Slough of Despond, 
wfiere Christian was well nigh smothered They told 



402 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

me^ that there were archers standing ready in Beelzebub 
Castle to shoot them Avho should knock at the wicket- 
gate for entrance. They told me also of the wood and 
dark mountains, of the hill Difficulty; of the lions; 
and also of the three giants, E^oodyman, Maul, and 
Sla3'good. They said, moreover, that there was a foul 
fiend haunted the Valley of Humiliation ; and that 
Christian was by him almost bereft of life. Besides, 
said they, you must go over the Valley of the Shadow 
of Death, where the hobgoblins are, where the light is 
darkness, where the way is full of snares, pits, traps, 
and gins. They told me also of Giant Despair, of 
Doubting Castle, and of the ruin that the pilgrims met 
with there. Further, they said I must go over the En- 
chanted Ground, which was dangerous , and that, after 
all this, I should find a river over which there was no 
bridge , and that that river did lie betwixt me and the 
Celestial Country. 

Great. And was this all ? 

Valiant. No. They also told me that this way 
<\^as full of deceivers, and of persons that lay in wait 
there to turn good men out of the path. 

Geeat. But how did they make that out ? 

Valiant. They told me that Mr. Wordly Wiseman 
ilid lie there to wait to deceive. They said, also, that 
there were Formality and Hypocrisy continually on the 
road. They said, also, that Byends, Talkative, or De- 
mas, v/ould go near to gather me up , that the Flatterer 
would catch me in his net^ or that, with green-headed 
[gnorance, I would presume to go on to the gate, from 
whence he was sent back to the hole that was in tho 
side of the hill, and made to go the by-way to hell. 

Great. I promise you this was enough to discour- 
age you ; but did they make an end there ? 

Valiant. No, stay. Th/3v told me also ^f ^any 



rilE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 4©)^ 

that had tried tliat way of old, and that had gone a 
great way therein, to see if they could find something 
of the glory there that so many had so much talked of 
from time to time, and how they came back again, and 
befooled themselves for setting a foot out of doors in 
that path, to the satisfaction of all the country. And 
they named several that did so, as Obstinate and Pli- 
able, Mistrust and Timorous, Turnaway and old Athe- 
ist, with several more ; who, they said, had some of 
them gone far to see what they could find, but not one 
of them had found so much advantage by going as 
amounted to the weiglit of a feather. 

Great, v'^aid tliey anything more to discourage you? 

Valiant. Yes. They told me of one Mr. Fearing, 
who was a pilgrim, and how he found his way so soli- 
tary that he never had a comfortable hour therein ; 
also, that Mr. Despondency had like to have been 
starved therein. Yea, and also (which I had almost 
^orgot), that Christian himself, about whom there has 
been such a noise, aft^r all his adventures for a ccle:^ 
tial crown, was certainly drowned in the Black RiYer> 
and never went a foot farther; however, it was snaotk- 
ered up. 

Great. And did none of these thing* discourage 
you? 

Valiant. No ; they seemed but as so many nothings 
to me. 

Great. How came that about ? 

Valiant. Why, I still believed what Mr. Telltrue 
had said ; and that carried me beyond them all. 

Great. Then this was your victory, even your fiiith ? 

Valiant. It was so. I believed, and therefore came 
out, got into the way, fought all that set themselves 
ugainst me, and, by believing, am come to this place* 



tOA THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS^ 

** Who would true valor see» 
Let him come hither ; 
One here will constant be, 

Come wind, come weath^ 
There's no discouragemeat 
Shall make him once relent 
His first avow'd intent 

To be a pilgrim 

•* Whoso beset him round 
With dismal stories. 
Do but themselves confound , 

His strength the more is. 
No lion can him fright, 
He'll with a giant fight, 
But he will have a right 

To be a pilgrim. 

*• Hobgoblin nor foul fiend 
Can daunt his spirit ; 
He knows he at tlie end 

Shall life inherit. 
Then fancies fly away. 
He'll not fear what men say ; 
He'll labor night and day 
To be a pilgrim. 

By this time they were got to the Enchanted Ground, 
where the air naturally tended to make one drowsy. 
And that place was all grown over with briers and 
thorns, excepting here and there, where was an en- 
chanted arbor, upon which if a man sits, or in which if 
a man sleeps, it is a question, some say, whether ever he 
shall rise or wake again in this world. Over this forest, 
therefore, they went, both one and another, and Mr. 
Grreatheart went before, for that he was the guide : and 
Valiant-for-truth came behind, being rear-guard, for fear 
lest peradventure some fiend, or dragon, or giant, or 
Ihief, should fall upon their rear, and so do mischiet 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 405 

The J went on here, each man with his sword drawn in 
his hand; for they knew it was a dangerous phice. 
Also, they cheered u^j one another as well as they could. 
Feebleraind, Mr. Greatheart commanded should come 
up after him ; and Mr. Despondency was under the eye 
of Mr. Valiant. 

Now they had not gone far, but a great mist and 
darkness fell upon them all ; so that they could scarce, 
for a great while, the one see the other. Wherefore 
they were forced, for some time, to feel one for another 
by words ; for they walked not by sight. But anyone 
must think, that here was but sorry going for the best 
of them all ; but how much worse for the women and 
children, who, both of feet and heart, were but tender i 
Yet so it was, that, through the encouraging words 01 
him that led in the front, and of him that brought them 
up behind, they made a pretty good shift to wag along. 

The way also here was very wearisome, through dirt 
and slabbiness. Nor was there, on all this ground, so 
much as one inn or victualling-house wherein to refresh 
the feebler sort. Here, therefore, was grunting, and 
puffing, and sighing, while one tumbleth over a bush, 
another sticks fast in the dirt, and the children, some 01 
them, lost their shoes in the mire ; while one cries out, 
I am down ; and another. Ho, where are you ? and a 
third, The bushes have got such fast hold on me, I think 
I can not get away from them. 

Then they came at an arbor, warm, and promising 
much refreshing to the pilgrims ; for it was finely 
wrought above-head, beautified with greens, furnished 
with benches and settles. It also had in it a soft couch, 
whereon the weary might lean. This, you must think, 
all things considered, was tempting ; for the pilgrims 
already began to be foiled with the badness of the way: 
6ut there was not one of them that made so much as a 



^ THE FjLGRIMS progress. 

motion to stop there. Yea, for aught I could perceb j^ 
th^y continually gave so good heed to the advice of 
th'iir guide, and he did so faithfully tell them of dangers, 
and of the nature of the dangers when they were at 
them, that usually, when they were nearest to them, 
they did most pluck up their spirits, and hearten one 
another to deny the flesh. This arbor was called Tly 
Slothful's Friend, and was made on purpose to allure 
if it might be, some of the pilgrims there to take up 
their rest when weary. 

I saw then, in my dream, that they went on in this 
their solitary ground, till they came to a place at which 
a man is apt to lose his way. Now, though when it 
was light their guide could well enough tell how to miss 
those ways that led wrong, 3'et in the dark he was put 
to a stand. But he had in his pocket a map of all ways 
leading to or from the Celestial City ; wherefore he 
struck a light (for he never goes without his tinder-box 
also), and takes a view of his book or map, which bids 
him to be careful in that place to turn to the right hand. 
And had he not been careful here to look in his map, 
they had all, in probability, been smothered in the mud; 
for just a little before them, and that at the end of the 
cleanest way too, was a pit, none knows how deep, full 
of nothing but mud, there made on purpose to destroy 
the pilgrims in. 

Then thought I with myself. Who that goeth en 
pilgrimage but would have one of these maps about 
him, that he may look, when he is at a stand, which is 
the way he must take ? [ 

Then they went on in this Enchanted Ground till 
they came to where there was another arbor, and it was 
built by the high way -side. And in that arbor there lay 
two men, whose names were Heedless and Toobold. 
These two w ent thus far on pilgrimage ; but here, being 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 40> 

wearied ivith their journey, they sat down to rest them- 
selves, and so fell fast asleep. Wlien the pilgrims saw 
them, they stood still, and shook their heads , for they 
knew that the sleepers were in a pitiful case. Then 
they consulted what to do, whether to go on and leave 
them in their sleep, or to step to them and try to awake 
them; so they concluded to go to them and awake 
them, that is, if they could ; but with this caution, 
namely to take heed that they themselves did not sit 
down nor embrace the offered benefit of that arbor. 

So they went in, and spake to the men, and called 
each by his name, for the guide, it seems, did know 
them ; but there was no voice nor answer. Then the 
guide did shake them, and do what he could to disturb 
them. Then said one of them I will pay you when I 
take my money. At which the guide shook his head. 
I will fight so long as I have my sword in my hand, said 
the other. At that, one of the children laughed. 

Then said Christiana, What is the meaning of this? 

The guide said. They talk in their sleep. If you 
strike them, beat them, or whatever else you do to them, 
they will answer you after this fashion ; or, as one of 
them said in old time, when the waves of the sea did 
beat upon him, and he slept as one upon the mast of a 
ship. When I awake, I will seek it yet again. (Prov. 
23 : 34, 35.) You know, when men talk in their sleep, 
they say anything ; but their words are not governed 
either by faith or reason. There is an incoherency in 
their words now, as there was before, betwixt their 
going on pilgrimage and sitting down here. This, then, 
is the mischief of it : when heedless ones go on pilgrim- 
age, 'tis twenty to one but they are served thus. For 
this Enchanted Ground is one of the last refuges that 
the enemy to pilgrims has ; wherefore it is, as you see, 
placed almost at the end of the way, and so it standeti 



4o8 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 

against us with the more advantage. For when, thinks 
fche enemy, will these fools be so desirous to sit down 
as when they are weary ? and when so like to be weary 
as when almost at their journey's end ? Therefore \% 
is, I say, that the Enchanted Ground is placed so nio-b 
to the land Beulah, and so near the end of their race 
Wherefore let pilgrims look to themselves, lest it hap 
pen to them as it has done to these, that, as you see, 
are fallen asleep, and none can awake them. 

Then the pilgrims desired with trembling to go for- 
ward ; only they prayed their guide to strike a light, 
that they might go the rest of their way by the help of 
the light of a lantern. So he struck a light, and they 
went by the help of that through the rest of this way, 
though the darkness was very great. (2 Pet. 1 : 19.) 
But the children began to be sorely weary, and they 
cried out unto Him that loveth pilgrims, to make their 
way more comfortable. So by that they had gone a 
little farther, a wind arose that drove away the fog, so 
the air became more clear. Yet they were not off (by 
much) of the Enchanted Ground; only now they could 
see one another better, and the way wherein they 
should walk. 

Now, when they were almost at the end of this 
ground, they perceived that a little before them was a 
solemn noise, as of one that was much concerned. So 
they went on and looked before them : and behold, they 
saw, as they thought, a man upon his knees, with hands 
and eyes lifted up, and speaking, as they thought, earn- 
estly to One that was above. They drew nigh, but 
could not tell what he said ; so they went softly till he 
had done. When he had done, he got up, and began 
to run towards the Celestial City. Then Mr. Great- 
iieart called after him, saying, Soho ! friend, let us have 
your company, if you go, as I suppose you do, to the 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 409 

Celestial City. So the man stopped, and they came up 
to him. But as soon as Mr. Honest saw him, he said, I 
know this man. Then said Mr. Valiant-for-truth, 
Prithee, who is it ? It is one, said he, that comes from 
whereabout I dwelt. His name is Standfast . he is cer- 
tainly a right good pilgrim. 

So they came up to one another, and presently 
Standfast said to old Honest, Ho, Father Honest, are 
you there ? Ay, said he, that I am, as sure as you are 
there- Right glad am I, said Mr. Standfast, that I have 
found you on this road. And as glad am I, said the 
other, that I espied you on your knees. Then Mr- 
Standfast blushed, and said, Bub why, did you see me? 
Yes, that I did, quoth the other, and, with my heart, 
was glad at the sight. Why, what did you think? 
said Standfast. Think! said old Honest j what could I 
think? I thought we had an honest man upon the 
road, and therefore should have his company by and 
by. If you thought not amiss, said Standfast, how 
happy am I ! But if I be not as I should, 'tis I alone 
must bear it. That is true, said the other ; but your 
fear doth further confirm me that things are right be- 
twixt the Prince of Pilgrims and your soul. For he 
saith, "Blessed is the man that feareth always." (Prov. 
28. 14.) 

Valiant. Well, but, brother, T pray thee tell us 
what was it that was the cause of thy being upon thy 
knees even now? was it for that some special mercy 
laid obligations upon thee, or how ? 

Stand. Why, we are, as you see, upon the En 
chanted Ground ; and as I was coming along, I was 
musing with myself of what a dangerous nature the 
road in this place was, and how many that had come 
even thus far on pilgrimage, had here been stopped and 
been destroyed. I thought also of the manner of the 



410 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

death with which this place destroyeth men. Those 
that die here, die of no violent distemper the death 
which such die is not grievous to them. For he that 
goeth away in a sleep, begins that journey mth desire 
and pleasure. Yea, such acquiesce in the will of that 
disease. 

Then Mr. Honest, interrupting him, said, Did you 
see the two men asleep in the arbor? 

Stand. Ay, ay, I saw Heedless and Toobold 
there, and for aught I know, there they will he till 
they rot. (Prov. 10:7.) But let me go on with my 
tale. As I was thus musing, as I said, there was one in 
very pleasant attire, but old, who presented herself to 
me, and offered me three things, to wit her body, her 
purse, and her bed. Now, the truth is, I was both 
weary and sleepy. I am also as poor as an owlet, and 
that perhaps the witch knew. Well, I repulsed her 
once and again, but she put by my repulses, and smiled. 
Then I began to be angry; but she mattered that noth- 
ing at all. Then she made offers again, and said, if 
I w^ould be ruled by her, she would make me great and 
happy, for, said she, I am the mistress of the world 
and men are made happy by me. Then I asked her 
name, and she told me it was Madam Bubble. This 
set me further from her, but she still followed me with 
enticements. Then I betook me, as you saw, to my 
knees, and with hands lifted up, and cries, I prayed to 
Him that had said he would help. So just as you came 
up, the gentlewoman went her way. Then I continued 
to give thanks for this my great deliverance, for I verily 
believe she intended no good, but rather sought to make 
stop of me in my journey. 

Hon. Without doubt her designs were bad. But 
stay, now you talk of her methinks I either have seen 
her, or have read some story of her. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^j i 

Stand. Perhaps you have done both. 

Hon. Madam Bubble! Is she not a tall, comely 
dame, somewhat of a swarthy complexion? 

Stand. Right, you hit it, she is just such a one. 

Hon. Doth she not speak very smoothly, and give 
you a smile at the end of a sentence? 

Stand. You fall right upon it again, for these are 
her very actions. 

Hon. Doth she not wear a great purse by her side, 
and is not her hand often in it, fingering her money, as 
if that was her heart's dehght? 

Stand. 'Tis just so, had she stood by all this while 
you could not more amply have set her forth before 
me, nor have better described her features. 

Hon. Then he that drew her picture was a good 
sketcher, and he that wrote of her said true. 

Great. This woman is a witch, and it is by virtue 
of her sorceries that this ground is enchanted. Who- 
ever doth lay his head down in her lap, had as good lay 
it down on that block over which the axe doth hang, 
and whoever lay their eyes upon her beauty are counted 
the enemies of God. This is she that maintaineth in 
their splendor all those that are the enemies of pilgrims. 
(James 4:4.) Yea, this is she that hath bought off 
many a 'man from a pilgrim's life. She is a great gos- 
siper, she is always, both she and her daughters, at one 
pilgrim's heels or another, now commanding, and then 
preferring, the excellences of this life. She is a bold 
and impudent slut: she will talk with any man. She 
always laughed poor pilgrims to scorn, but highly com- 
mends the rich. If there be one cunning to get money 
in a place, she will speak well of him from house to 
house. She loveth banqueting and feasting mainly 
vrell, she is always at one full table or another. She 
has given it out in some places that she is a goddess 



4td TUB PILGRIM'S PliOGRESS. 

and therefore, some do worship her. She has her time 
and open places of cheating ; and she will say, and avow 
it, that none can show a good comparable to hers. She 
promiseth to dwell with children, if they will but love 
her and make much of hero She will cast out of her 
purse gold like dust in some places and to some persons. 
She loves to be sought after, spoken well of, and to lie 
in the bosoms of men. She is never weary of commend- 
ing her commodities, and she loves them most that think 
best of her. She will promise to some crowns and king- 
doms, if they will but take her advice ; yet many hath 
she brought to the halter, and ten thousand times more 
to hell. 

Stand. Oh, said Standfast, what a mercy is it that 
I did resist her ; for whither might she have drawn me 1 

Great. Whither ? nay, none but God knows 
whither. But, in general, to be sure, she would have 
drawn thee into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which 
drown men in destruction and perdition. (1 Tim. 6 : 9.) 
'Twas she that set Absalom against his father, and 
Jeroboam against his master. 'Twas she that persuaded 
Judas to sell his Lord ; and that prevailed with Demas 
to forsake the godly pilgrim's life. None can tell of the 
mischief that she doth. She makes variance betwixt 
rulers and subjects, betwixt parents and children, be- 
twixt neighbor and neighbor, betwixt a man and his 
wife, betwixt a man and himself, betwixt the flesh and 
the spirit. Wherefore, good Mr. Standfast, be as youx 
name is, and when you have done all, stand. 

At this discourse there was, among the pilgrims, a 
mixture of joy and trembling ; but at length they brok u 
out and sung, — 



** What danger is the pilgrim In ( 
How many are his foes 1 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ^13 

Bow many ways there are to sin 
No living mortal knows. 

" Some in the ditch are spoiled ; yea, can 
Lie tumbling in the mire : 
Some, though they shun the frying-pan. 
Do leap into the fire." 

After this, I beheld until they were come into the 
land of Beulah, where the sun shineth night and day. 
Here, because they were weary, they betook themselves 
a while to rest. And because this country was common 
for pilgrims, and because the orchards and vineyards 
that were hero belonged to the King of the Celestial 
Country, therefore they were licensed to make boI(} 
with any of his things. But a little while soon refreshed 
them here ; for the bells did so ring, and the trumpets 
continually sound so melodiously, that they could not 
sleep, and yet they received as much refreshing as if 
they had slept their sleep ever so soundly. Here, also, 
fell the noise of them that walked the streets was, More 
pilgrims are come to town ! And another would answer 
saying, And so many went over the water, and were let 
in at the golden gates to-day ! They would cry again, 
There is now a legion of shining ones just come to 
town, by which we know that there are more pilgrims 
upon the road ; for here they come to wait for them, 
and to comfort them, after all their sorrow. Then tho 
pilgrims got up, and walked to and fro. But how were 
their ears now filled with heavenly noises, and their eyes 
delighted with celestial visions I In this land they 
heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, smelt nothing, 
tasted nothing, that was offensive to their stomach or 
mind ; only when they tasted of the water of the river 
over which they were to go, they thought that it tasted 
a little bitterish to the palate ; but it proved sweeter 
when it was dowu. 



^84 ^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESS^ 

In this place there was a record kept of the names 
of them that had been pilgrims of old, and a history of 
all the famous acts tliat they had done. It was here 
also much discoursed, how the river to some had had 
its flowings, and what ebbings it has had while others 
had gone over. It has been in a manner dry for some, 
while it has overflowed its banks for others. 

In this place the cliildren of tlie town would go into 
the King's gardens, and gather nosegays for the pilgrims, 
and bring them to them with mucli affection. Here, 
also, grew camphire, with spikenard and saffron, cala- 
mus and cinnamon, with all the trees of frankincense, 
myrrh, and aloes, with all chief spices. With these the 
pilgrims' cliambers were perfumed, while they stayed 
herci and with these were their bodies anointed, to 
prepare them to go over the river, when the time ap- 
pointed was come. 

Now, while they lay here, and waited for the good 
hour, there was a noise in the town that there was a 
post come from the Celestial City, with matter of great 
importance to one Christiana, the wife of Christian the 
pilgrim. So inquiry was made for her, and the house 
was found out where she saw. So the post presented 
her with a letter. The contents were: Hail, good 
woman ; I bring thee tidings that the Master calleth for 
thee, and expecteth that thou shouldst stand in His 
presence, in clothes of immortality, within these ten 
days. 

When he had read this letter to her, he gave her 
therewith a sure token that he was a true messenger, 
and was come to bid her make haste to be gone. The 
token was, an arrow with the point sharpened with love, 
let easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so 
effectually with her, that, at the time appomted, fiha 
must bd gouH. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 415 

When Christiana saw that her time was come, and 
that she was the fii-st of this company that was to go 
over, she called for ;Mr. Greatheart, her guide, and told 
him how matters were. So he told her he was heartily 
<,^]ad of the news, and could have been glad had the 
post come for him. Then she bid him that he should 
give advice how all things should be prepared for her 
joumey. So lie told her. saying, Thus and tlius it must 
Ije, and we that survive will accompany you to the river- 
side. 

Then she called for her children, and gave them her 
blessing, and told them that she had reacl with comfort 
the mark that was set in their foreheads, and was glad 
to see them with her there, and that they had kept 
their garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to 
the poor that little she had, and commanded her sons 
and daughters to be ready against the messenger 
should come for them. 

When she had s|)okcn these words to her guide, and 
to her children, she called for Mr. Yaliant-for-truth, 
and said unto him, Sir, you have in all places showed 
yourself true-hearted : be faithful unto death, and my 
King will give you a crown of life. (Rev. 2 : 10.) I 
would also entreat 3^ou to have an eye to my children ; 
and if at any time you see them faint, speak comfort- 
ably to them. For my daughters, my son's n'ives, they 
have been faithful, and a fulfilling of the promise upon 
them will be their end. But she gave Mr. Standfast a 
ring. 

Then she called for old Mr. Honest, and said of him, 
" Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile ! " 
(John 1 : 47.) Then said he, I wish you a fair day 
when you set out for Mount Sion, and shall be glad to 
see that you go over the river dry-shod. But she an- 
swered. Come wet, mme dw- ^ loner to be gone; far 



416 THE PILGRIM^S PROGRESS. 

however the weather is in my journey, I shall have 
time enough when I come there to sit down and rest 
me and dry me. 

Then came in that good man, Mr. Keadytohalt, to 
see her. So she said to him. Thy travel hitherto has 
been with difficulty ; but that will make thy rest the 
sweeter. AYatch, and be ready ; for at an hour when 
you think not, the messenger may come. 

After him came Mr. Despondency and his daughter 
Muchafraid, to whom she said. You ought, with thank- 
fulness, forever to remember your deliverance from the 
hands of Giant Despair, and out of Doubting Castle. 
The effect of that mercy is, that you are brought with 
safety hither. Be ye watchful, and cast away fear ; be 
sober and hope to the end. 

Then she said to Mr. Feeblemind, Thou wast deliv- 
ered from the mouth of Giant Slaygood, that thou 
mightest live in the light of the hving, and see thy 
King with comfort. Only I ad\dse thee to repent of 
thine aptness to fear and doubt of his goodness, be- 
fore He sends for thee ; lest thou shouldst, when He 
comes, be forced to stand before Him for that fault 
with blushing. 

Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. 
So the road was full of people to see her take her jour- 
ney. But behold all the banks beyond the river were 
full of horses and chariots, which were come down from 
above to accompany her to the city gate. So she came 
forth, and entered the river, with a beckon of farewell 
to those that followed her. The last words that she 
was heard to say were, I come. Lord, to be with Thee 
and bless Thee ! So her children and friends returned 
to their place, for those that waited for Christiana had 
carried her out of their sight. So she went and called, 
and entered in at the eate with all the ceremonies of 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 4 1 7 

joy that her husband Christian had entered with before 
her. At her departure, the children wept. But Mr. 
Greatheart and Mr. Vahant played upon the well-tuned 
cymbal and harp for joy. So all departed for their 
respective places. 

In process of time there came a post to the town 
again, and his business was with Mr. Readytohalt. So 
he inquired him out, and said, I am come from Him 
whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon 
crutches; and my message is to tell thee, that He ex- 
pects thee at His table to sup with Him in his king- 
dom, the next day after Easter, wherefore prepare 
thyself for this journey. Then he also gave him a 
token that he was a true messenger, saying, *'I have 
broken thy golden bowl, and loosed thy silver cord." 
(Eccles. 12:6.) 

After this, Mr. Readytohalt called for his fellow- 
pilgrims, and told them, saying, I am sent for, and 
God shall surely visit you also. So he desired Mr. 
Valiant to make his will. And because he had nothing 
to bequeath to them that should survive him but his 
crutches, and his good wishes, therefore thus he said, 
These crutches I bequeath to my son that shall tread 
in my steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he may 
prove better than I have been. Then he thanked Mr. 
Greatheart for his conduct and kindness, and so ad- 
dressed himself to his journey. When he came to the 
brink of the river, he said, Now I shall have no more 
need of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and 
horses for me to ride on. The last words he was 
heard to say, were, Welcome, life! So he went his 
way. 

After this, Mr, Feeblemind had tidings brought him 
that the post sounded his horn at his chamber-door. 
Then he came in and told him, saying, I am come to 



41;. TUE PILQRiyrs PROGRESS. 

tell theu that thy Master hath need of thee, aii.*' that 
m a very little time thou must behold His face in 
briirhtness. And take this as a token of the truth of 
mv messai^^e: *' Those that look out at the windows 
shall be darkened." (Eccles. 12: 8.) Then Mr. Feeble- 
mind called for his friends, and told them what errand 
had been brought unto him, and what token he had 
received of the truth of the message. Then he said, 
Since I have nothing to be<j[ueath to any, to what pur- 
pose should I make a will ? As for my feeble mind, 
that I will leave behind me, for that 1 shall have no 
need of in the place whither I go, nor is it worth be- 
stowing upon the poores} pilgnms : wherefore, when I 
am f^one, I desire that vou, ^[r. Valiant, would burv it in 
a dunirhill. This done, and the dav bein^:: come on which 
he was to depart, he entered the river as the rest. His 
last words were. Hold out, faith and pat'ence! So he 
went over to the other side. 

AVhen days had many of them passed away, Mr. 
Despondency was sent for ; for a post was come, and 
brought this message to him : Trembling man ! these 
are to summon thee to be ready with the King by the 
next Lord's day, to shout for joy for thy deUverance 
from all thy doubtings. And, said the messenger, 
that my message is true, take this for a proof : So ne 
gave him a grasshopper to be a burden unto him. 
(Eccles. 12:5.) 

Now Mr. Despondency's daughter, whose name was 
Muchafraid, said, when she heard wliat was done, that 
she woidd go with her father. Then Mr. Despondency 
s:iid to his friends. Myself and my daughter, you know 
what we have been, and how troublesomely we have 
behaved oui-selves in every company. My will and my 
daughter's is, that our desponds and sla\nsh fears be 
by no man ever received^ from the day of our de- 



TETB PILGHIM'S PROGRESS. 410 

parture forever; for I know that after my death they 
will offer tliemselves to othei's. For, to be plain with 
you, they are ghosts which we entertained when we 
tii-st bc^an to be pili^rinis, and could never sliake them 
ort' after ; and they will walk about and seek entertain- 
ment of the pilgrims : but for our sakes, shut the doors 
ujK)n them. 

When the time was come for them to depai't, they 
went up to the brink of the river. The last words of 
Mr. Desjx^ndency were, Farewell, night ; welcome, day ! 
Ilis dau<rhtcr went tlirough the river singing, but none 
could undei-stand what she said. 

Then it came to jmss, a while after, tliat there was a 
j)ost in the town that inipiired ror Afr. Honest. So he 
came to the house where he was, and delivered to his 
hand these lines: Thou art coramandc:! to bo ready 
against this day seven-night, to prese"at thyself before 
thy Ix>rd at bis Father's * ouse. An \ for a token that 
my mcvssage is true. '* Ah the daughters of music shall 
be brought low." (Eccles. 12 : 4.) Then Mr. Honest 
called for his friends, and siiid unto them, I die, but 
shall make no will. As for ray honesty, it shall go with 
me ; let him that comes after me be tcld of this. 

When the day that he was to be gone was come, he 
addressed liimself to go over the river. Now the river 
at that time overflowed its banks in some places ; but 
Mr. Honest, in his lifetime, had spoken to one Good- 
conscience to meet him there, the which he also did, 
and lent hun his hand, and so helped him over. The 
last words of Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns ! So he 
left the world. 

After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Yaliant-for- 
truth was taken with a summons by the same post 
as the other, and had this for a token that the summons 
was true, " That his pitcher was broken at the fountain." 



420 ^//^ PILORIM'8 PROGRESS. 

(Eccles. 12 : 6.) AVlien he understood it, he called for 
liis friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am 
going to my Father's ; and though with great dillicult v 
I have got hither, yet now I do not rei>ont nie uf all the 
trouble I have been at to arrive where 1 am. My sword 
1 give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, 
and my courage and skill to him that can get it. My 
marks and sciirs I carry with me, to bo a witness for 
me that I have fought ilis battles who will now be mj 
reward er. 

Wlu'u the day that he must go hence was come, 
many accompanied him to the river-side, into wliich, as 
he went, he said, *' Death where is thy sting?" And 
as he went down deejH^i', he said, ** Grave where is thy 
victory ? " (1 Cor. 15 : 65.) So he passed over, and all 
the trumpets soundeil for him on the other side. 

Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Standfast. 
This ^Ir. Standfast was he whom the rest of the i)il- 
grims found upon lis knees in the Enchanted Ground. 
And the ]K)st brought it him o])en in his hands : the 
contents thereof were, that he must prepare for a 
change of hfe, for his Master was not wiUing that he 
should be so far from him any longer. At this Mr. 
Standfast was put into a muse. Nay, said the mes- 
senger, you need not doubt of the truth of my message ; 
for here is a token of the truth thereof, " Thy wheel is 
broken at the cistern." (Eccles. 12: 0.) Then he called 
to him Mr. Greatheart, who was their guide, and said 
unto him, Sir, dthough it was not my hap to be much 
in your good company during the days of my pilgrimage^ 
yet, since the time I knew you, you have been profitable 
to me. When I came from home I left behind me a 
wife and five small children ; let me entreat you at 
your return (for I know that you will go and return to 
your Master's house» iii_hoiK^s that you may yet be a 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 421 

oonddctor to inoro of the holy pil^xrims tnat /ou soDcl 
fo TTiy family, and let them he acqiuiintod with all that 
hath and shall happen unto me. Tell them, moroover, 
of m}' happy an-ival at this phice, and of the present 
liite hlt»sse<l c<mdition I am in. Tell them also of 
Ohnstian and Christiana his wife, and how she and her 
children came after her husband. Tell them also of 
what a happy end she ma<h\and wliither siie has ^one. 
1 have little or nothing to s<'nd to my family, unless it Im' 
prayers and tears for them : of which it will sullieethat 
you acquaint them, if p^rad venture they may ])revail. 

When ^Ir. Standf;i^t liad thus set things in order, 
and the time having come for him to hp.<t43 him away, ho 
also went down to the river. Now there was a great 
calm at that timt? in the river ; where fon^ Mr. Standfast 
when he was aUnit half way in, st<KKl a while, and 
talkixl with his com|\anion8 tliat had waited ujK)n him 
thither. And he s;iid. This river hius Innrn j terror t4> 
many ; yea, the thoughts of it also have ofvcn fright- 
ened me; but no\, methinks I sUmd easy; my f(X)t is 
fixed upon that on which tlie feet of the priests that 
Inire the ark of the covenant stood while Isniel went 
over Jordan. (Josh. 3 : 17.) The waters indee<l are 
to the palate bitter, and to the stomach cold : yet the 
thoughts of what I am going to. and of the convoy that 
waits me on the other side, do lie as a glowing coal at 
my heart. I see myself now at the end of my journey ; 
my toilsome days are ended. I am going to see that 
head which was crowned with thorns and that face 
which was spit upon for me. I have fonnerly lived by 
hearsay and faith ; but now I go where I shall live by 
signt, and sliall be \Wth him in whose company I de- 
light myself. I have loved to hear my I^ord spoken of ; 
and wherever I have seen the print of His shoe in the 
earth, there I have coveted to set mv foot too- nji 



422 '^^^ PILGRIM'S PROGRESb, 

name has been to me as a civet-box ; j^ea, sweeter tbau 
all perfmnes. His voice to me has been most sweet, 
and His countenance I have more desired than they 
that have most desired the Ught of the sun. His words 
I did use to gather for my food, and for antidotes against 
my faintings. He hath held me, and hath kept me 
from mine iniquities : yea, my steps hath he strength- 
ened in His way. 

Now, while he was thus in discourse, his counte- 
nance changed ; his strong man bowed under him ; and 
after he had said. Take me. for I come unto Thee, he 
ceased to be seen of them. 

But glorious it was to see how the open region was 
filled with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and 
pipers, with singers and players upon stringed instru- 
ments, to welcome the pilgrims as they went up, and 
followed on(> another in at the beautixul gate of the city. 

As for Christiana's children, th3 four boys that 
Christiana brought, with their wives and children, I did 
not stay where I was till they were gone over. Also, 
since I came away, I heard one say that they were yet 
alive, and so would be for the increase of the church, 
in that place where they were, for a time. 

Should it be my lot to go that way again, I may 
give those that desire it an account of what I here am 
silent about. Meantime, I bid my reader. 

Fakewell. 

70 8'"^ 



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